


ABC of hurt/comfort

by happydaygirl



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Accidents, Brotherly Bonds, Hurt/Comfort, Illness, caring constance, caring musketeers, injuries, warnings in each chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-03-10 00:48:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 53,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3270527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happydaygirl/pseuds/happydaygirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>26 unrelated one-shots featuring all the characters dealing with illness, accidents, wounds and anything- and everything- in between. Prompts welcomed! Separate warning on each chapter just in case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A is for Attitude

**Author's Note:**

> A is for Attitude....

The bar was dim and dank; reeking of spilt alcohol, stale sweat and tobacco smoke- Aramis wrinkled his nose and began breathing through his mouth as soon as he stepped over the threshold. 'Nice place...' He commented drily, quirking an eyebrow to Porthos, who snorted and gave a short nod in agreement, 'I grew up in dives like this,' he told him jokily, pretending to take offence, 'so watch your mouth, city boy.'

'City boy?' Aramis repeated, mock insulted. 'Ouch.'

'Please don't forget why we're here, gentlemen.' Athos muttered from behind them as he pulled off his hat- he took a sniff of air as Aramis chuckled. 'Could do with a window being opened, though,' He conceded.

They stepped further into the room, the midday sun outside all but forgotten as a smoky shade pressed in on them. 'Keep a sharp eye out,' Athos told them, his eyes flitting over the revellers as they sat around drinking the day away. 'He's here somewhere...'

For the last three days they had been tasked with finding a turncoat from the Army- a man privy to the King's private information thanks to his sister's occupation as a scullery maid at the Palace. Once the two had realised they'd been found out they had absconded; presumably to England or to Spain they had thought. That morning, however, they'd received word from a reliable source that he at least was still in Paris.

Now they had been tasked with his retrieval, with orders from Treville that the King hardly cared what state he was in when they had found him. Athos, however, liked to do a proper job, and that meant keeping him alive.

'We should split up, there's a dozen of these taverns on this street...' Porthos suggested, palm itching for the goblet of wine on the bar.

'No need.' Athos muttered, shaking his head and pointing to a stooped, shawled figure bent over the fire. 'There he is.' He rolled his eyes at the stupidity of it. They were just about to go over when they heard some muttering outside.

'Oh, here we go...' Aramis sighed, shaking his head as the door banged open behind them, heralding the arrival of two Red Guards. 'Just like rats...' He added.

'Thought this was our gig?' Porthos muttered, but they were all surprised as they merely walked to the bar.

'Afternoon, gents!' Aramis beamed, fixing them with a killer smile. 'Lovely time for a spot of drinking, wouldn't you say?' He added as two large tankards were placed by their hands. They each regarded him with contempt- as usual- as one flicked a couple of coins at the barman.

'I'd go steady on the old ale,' Aramis suggested lightly, patting his stomach, 'a tad fattening?'

The men glared at him, their mutual hatred of each other clear to see.

'Not the time..' Athos growled, hand lacing onto his blade as he stepped closer to their man.

'You better watch yourself!' One of them spat back, eyeing him with a glare.

'Oh really?' Aramis replied cooly, well aware that nothing untoward would happen whilst the public was watching. 'And why is that?'

'Because-' the man was interrupted by his friend, who sniggered and tossed his head towards Athos, who had his hand out ready to clamp onto the turncoat's shoulder.

'What are three musketeers doing around these parts anyway?' He asked loudly, grinning as Aramis winced- turning around he saw the turncoat stiffen, before he abruptly stood, hands for his side.

'I wouldn't do that if I were you,' Athos growled, musket out and pointed to his chest in seconds, 'my superiors want you dead- but I like to deliver fresh meat, not cadavers.' He added, eyes boring into the other man's.

Aramis shot the Red Guard a disgusted look before joining them, blade out. 'Better to come quietly than not at all.' He suggested, shrugging, 'it would make an awful mess of this fine establishment if we decorate it with your blood, hmmm?'

The man's eyes were wide- Porthos could almost see the cogs whirring in his mind as he worked things out- 'my sister...'

'Is with our Captain.' Porthos bluffed, eyes dark. 'She will come to no harm if you cooperate with us.' The man nodded, before putting shaky hands up.

'Excellent choice.' Athos muttered drily, clasping onto the man's shoulders and turning him- Porthos stepped back as he pushed him forwards. He raised his eyes to Aramis, who smiled at a job well done.

As Athos shoved the man out of the door to the waiting Musketeers on the other side, he turned back to the Red Guards, who were looking on with smiles on their faces.

'Classic work,' he spat, eyeing the patrons as they started to fall silent, eyes fixed on them, 'you always know how to muck things up!' He pointed to the door.' What a stupid, idiotic thing to do! You could have jeopardised our whole mission!'

'Va te faire foutre, Musketeer- get back to poncing around in your swishy cloaks, arresting people for show- let us do the proper work, yeah?'

'Proper work?' Aramis echoed, growling as Porthos held his shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze- he looked at where he has tossed his head; he swallowed his anger in a second as he saw twenty pairs of eyes staring avidly at them.

'Look, we've just become top news for the day!' He muttered tersely, before glaring at the two guards. 'Outside. Now.' He ordered, adrenaline beginning to fizz as well as irritation as the guards stood, malicious smiles on their faces.

'Looks like we've just gone off duty- lead on.' One of them growled, cracking his knuckles.

Aramis breathed out a laugh, while Porthos snorted beside him- they eyed each other, giving minute shrugs to one another as they walked out of the silence of the tavern to the bustling street outside- they always did like to put on a show.

The matter was deadly serious, however- they could have scuppered the entire mission.

'You deliberately sabotaged that in the hopes of catching us out!' He growled as soon as they were alone.

'Relax, you got him!' The guard rolled his eyes.

'I will not relax!' Aramis muttered, eyes flashing. 'Your boss will hear how you almost cost us our man!' This seemed to rile them- one of them licked his lips, before giving Aramis a very nasty looking smile.

'He wouldn't have needed to have been caught at all if you hadn't of let him out of your sights, first!' He spat.

'Really? The blame game?' Aramis rolled his eyes, snorting. 'I'd expect better from you!'

'Well it's hardly like you do a proper job, do you- you're just glorified servants!'

'As opposed to fat, unfit, balding wastes of money?' Aramis growled, 'spending day after day trawling bars pretending to work- you're all just slobs who like to work as little as possible!'

Porthos chuckled beside him, nodding his head in agreement- this seemed to make them angrier. They spluttered for an answer, making Aramis laugh harder. 'So inept they can't even come up with a decent comeback!' He provoked, shaking his head. 'Pathetic.' He stepped backwards, giving them a sarcastic little wave as he made to turn around and walk up the street.

The blow to his temple hardly registered- the pain only erupted in his ear as Porthos swung him around, out of the way of another punch.

'Oh you're going to regret that!' He dimly heard his friend spit as his ear stung; a ringing sound encapsulated him for a couple of seconds, coupled with a sudden throbbing pain.

The thudding sound of more blows suddenly filled the air- he span around, blinking hard as he felt blood run down his face; upon closer look at the man who was trying to overcome Porthos, he saw that he had three interconnected brass rings on his right hand, and that was what he had hit him with.

He clasped a hand to his face as pain still radiated- a cry of pain from one guard, coupled with a thud as Porthos got him to the ground, heralded the end of the 'fight'...if it ever was one.

'I'll see you hang for this!' One of them said- Aramis saw he sported a bloody nose.

'Oh yeah, for what?' Porthos challenged, eyes wild. 'Self-defence?' He pointed to the gaggle of onlookers that had gathered in the last few minutes. 'And I've got plenty of witnesses to prove it!'

The man glared at him, wiping blood from his face- his mate clapped a hand on his shoulder and pulled, a bruise blooming on his cheek.

'Off you go- run away!' Aramis muttered, wincing as he moved his head.

Porthos turned back to him, shaking his head at him. 'Less of that now, yeah?' He muttered, reigning him in as the men walked off, muttering obscenities at them.

'They deserved it!' Aramis pointed out, before touching the blood trickling onto his cloak. 'What the hell did he hit me with?'

'We call 'em knuckle dusters, but that's probably not the proper name for 'em..' Porthos shrugged, looking at his wound. 'Could've been a lot worse.' He added, relieved. 'I've seen a man punched only once and he died!'

'Really?' Aramis gulped, grateful all he had was a headache.

'Yeah, nasty things, they are.' Porthos nodded, eyes narrowed, 'never thought I'd see 'em outside of the Court.' He growled, before ducking his head as they heard boot falls echoing.

'So I was just arresting our turncloak, the one we were supposed to find?' Athos muttered as he walked closer before stopping in front of them, as if just making polite conversation. 'I pull him up to Treville, handing him over...I was just about to turn and say how well the mission went when I saw I was two men down!' He glared across to them both.

His eyes softened considerably as he saw Aramis' head. 'What in god's name happened to you?'

'Red guards, and- what were those things?' Aramis looked across to Porthos.

'Knuckle dusters.'

'-Red Guards and knuckle dusters!' Aramis smiled, shrugging. 'Sounds like the name of a troupe, doesn't it?'

'If you say so...' Athos muttered, frowning and looking closer, shaking his head. 'You need that seeing to.' He commented, sighing at them both. 'Where are the guards?'

'Scarpered with their tails firmly between their legs.' Porthos chuckled.

'Porthos had to remind them of certain etiquette.' Aramis nodded, before squeezing his eyes shut and groaning as pain shot through his head. 'Hurts quite a bit, actually.' He said quietly, shaking his head a little.

'Come on- it's the matron for you, and then we can go and speak to the King; tell him the good news.' Athos nodded, before walking up beside him and putting an arm around him. 'Can you walk?'

'You're not picking me up!'

'I was thinking more of getting a horse for you, but you know- whatever you want.' Athos chuckled.

Aramis snorted, before shaking his head. 'I'm fine, really- just got myself to blame.' He said, before the three of them started the slow walk back to the Palace to look after their new 'guest.'...


	2. B is for Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> B is for Burn....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a note- all of these one-shots will focus on either preseries or are set in the first season, as I haven't yet seen the 2nd

'One more?' Athos asked with a quirked eyebrow, his empty tankard loose in his hand as he waved it in front of Aramis' face. The younger man quirked an eyebrow back before narrowing his eyes.

'We have parade in the morning.' He stated for the twentieth time. 'I don't really fancy a hangover whilst standing in the sun all day.'

'Ohhh...' Athos cursed in frustration, slamming the tankard down and pushing himself to his feet. 'Why do you always have to be right?'

'Its a talent!' Aramis grinned, shrugging. 'Come on- we can have one more stop at The Wagon, it's on our way?'

'Now you're talking!' Athos muttered putting some coins onto the scrubbed wooden table they had been sat at before shouldering his coat.

They left the bustling tavern and headed out into the street, where a few people were milling around by the market square in the gathering gloom of night. 'I'll be glad when it's summer,' Aramis said as he wrapped his cloak tighter around him, 'I much prefer the warm.'

Athos hummed in agreement, nose suddenly itching as a smell caught his nose. 'What's that?' He asked, looking around; it smelt smoky, acrid against his tongue.

Aramis sniffed, before shrugging. 'Someone's probably burnt their loaves, easily done.' He replied, before a woman, her hair flying around her face and a worried expression on her face almost ran full pelt into Athos. 'Steady,' he said, holding her arms to steady her as she nearly fell. She looked at him, wild eyed, before her eyes lit up as she saw their blue cloaks. 'Come quickly!' She cried, seizing Athos' arm and heaving him forwards.

'What's wrong?' Aramis called after them as Athos was dragged down the street.

'There's a fire at Madame Benard's house!' She cried, and Aramis ran alongside them as they turned the corner to a side street.

They looked up at the house, a humble two storey attire, burning brightly in the night- flames licked at the windows, the thatching ablaze.

Athos caught sight of a group of people huddled near the house, blackened with soot and ash. 'Is everyone out?!' He called as they ran forwards, before a heavy lump fell into his chest as they were faced with a desperate, sobbing woman who was being restrained from running back in by her Husband. 'My babies!' She cried, wrestling away from her husband and staggering towards the flames- Aramis wrapped a hand around her shoulders and pulled her to his chest, smoothing down her hair as she sobbed. 'We'll do what we can.' He promised as he gently let go. 'Stay here.' He added softly, before he looked at Athos.

Athos nodded, although from the looks of the fire he wasn't sure they'd find the children alive. They ran forwards, shielding their eyes from the glare of the fire, before Aramis kicked open the warped wooden door, an arm in front of his face as a waft of heat berated them.

'Where are they?' Athos called back.

'In the bedroom, up the stairs and to the left!' The woman called back, back in the arms of her husband as they stood, horror-struck. Athos nodded and followed Aramis in, who had taken out his scarf and pushed it against his nose.

'Up the stairs!' He instructed, eyes already watering as the smoke hit their faces. Aramis nodded and headed that way, the crackling of wood making his nerves jitter.

The wooden stairs were blackened and soft, threatening to drop them at any moment- they walked on the edge nearest the wall, being careful not to put too much weight on the slats. Aramis headed straight ahead to another room, the room filled with plumes of smoke, whilst Athos turned to the first left, into a small bedroom.

A weak cry filtered through the smoke, and Athos darted in quickly and came to a halt by the crib next to the bed. 'Come here, sweetheart...' He whispered as he picked up the babe and cradled her in his arms- he opened his jacket and stowed her inside with one arm to support her- he looked up with a thrill of horror as a cracking sound erupted over his head; he stepped backwards just as a beam, blazing orange, fell onto the baby's crib, smashing it to the ground.

Athos coughed into his hand as he quickly turned and went back into the hallway that led to the stairs- 'Aramis!' He called, retching now as the smoke clung to his throat- he couldn't imagine the damage that he been done to the child in his arms. He looked down to make sure she was still alive- relief course through him as she blinked up at him, yet made no noise.

'I'm going back outside!' He called into the worrying silence left by his friend. Without waiting for an answer he turned and carefully made his way back down the stairs, and out into the cool, smoke-free air, and a sizeable crowd.

'Move out of the way!' He growled as he placed the child in her mother's arms- she sobbed as she cradled her in her arms, before a woman dressed in white came forward and took the child from her- a matron, Athos noted. 'Where's Thomas?' Her husband cried, and they all looked back to the house- why hadn't Aramis returned yet?

'Thomas!' The mother called, her arms wrapped round herself in absence of either of her children. 'Thomas!'

Athos coughed into his hands again as he surged forward, to go back into the house and help his friend- seconds later a figure emerged from the smouldering blackness of the house, stooped and struggling. 'Aramis!' He called in horror, joining the husband as he ran forwards- a five year old child was held tight in Aramis' arms, coughing hard into the air; he started to cry as his father extracted him from Aramis' arms- he nodded wordless thanks at the musketeer before hurrying him to his mother and more matrons that had heard the commotion from their own houses.

Athos' attention was immediately on his friend- 'Aramis?' He muttered, putting a hand to his shoulder as the younger man leaned over and retched smoke from his lungs. His ashen face shone in the night, and soot lined his face. 'Is...' He couldn't get out his words as another cough forced it's way out of him.

'They look fine.' Athos reassured him, already anticipating his words. Aramis nodded at the ground as he retched some more, his breaths haggard and uneven.

'Steady...steady...' Athos warned, manoeuvring him to the ground so he was in a sitting positing. 'Just breathe...' He added, taking hold of his shoulder and squeezing as Aramis coughed again.

A matron came up with a wash cloth soaked in cool water for them both- Athos used one to squeeze over Aramis' head to cool him, before giving him the other to wash his face with.

'Keep breathing normally...' He advised, knowing how horrible smoke inhalation could be. 'In and out...'

'I know...how to...breathe...' Aramis chuckled, the cloth draped over his face as he rubbed the material in.

'I know...' Athos smiled, squatting down and taking a good look at him as Aramis removed the cloth and looked across at him, breathing still harsh and unsettled, but better than before.

'Are you sure they're ok?' Aramis asked, craning his neck to see the small family as the crowd still bustled around.

'They look it.' Athos said, unwilling to go over there and ask- they looked bothered by the masses of attention as it was. 'Come on,' he muttered as Aramis kept on with his structured breathing, 'can you walk?'

'I'm not...staying here...all night...' Aramis quipped, before accepting the hand that Athos proffered with a smile.

'Come on, let's pay a visit to the matron before you turn in- I think we both need to be checked over, just in case.'

Aramis nodded his agreement, before sniffing deeply, wincing. 'Smoke tastes disgusting.' He stated as he slowly walked alongside Athos away from the clamouring crowds, back into a quieter part of town that led to their respective rooms.

'Hope they're ok...' Aramis once again muttered as they reached the matron's door, hoping it was still early enough that she'd still be in.

'We can go and visit them in the morning to see how they are?' Athos suggested. Aramis nodded coughing into his hand again. 'Alright.' He agreed, before knocking on the matron's door, brushing soot from their hair as they waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, please comment!


	3. C is for Cats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> C is for Cats.....

Porthos and Aramis strode across the road in the direction of Madame Bonaciex's house, pulling their cloaks around them as a chilly night started to draw in.

'I say we keep it, see how long it takes before he notices...' Aramis chuckled as they walked, smiling across at his friend, who rolled his eyes.

'Treville will have your hide, teasing him like that!' Porthos grinned, but he was considering it.

'Why are you always so nice? It's not natural.' Aramis snorted, before tapping on the wooden front door.

Constance opened it, the smell of bread cooking wafting in behind her into the street. The two men inclined their heads, before Aramis sniffed deeply. 'Mmm, smells delicious!' He complimented, taking off his hat.

'Musketeers do not come to my door pining for bread.' Constance retorted, eyes narrowed slightly. 'What's wrong?'

'Is d'Artagnan in?' Porthos asked, mouth salivating.

'He's upstairs, washing for supper.' Constance replied, opening the door wider. 'Come in, he won't be a moment.'

'Supper, you say?' Aramis asked as he slid in the door, smiling. 'Sounds good!'

'You can keep your mitts off!' She replied, smiling as she shut the door. 'There isn't enough soup in the whole of France to whet your appetite, you big monster.'

'My lady, why do you wound me so?' Aramis asked, eyes wide.

'You can have a crust of bread and be done, deal?' Constance gave in, before calling for d'Artagnan to come down to the kitchen. 'My husband will be in soon.'

'Your hospitality is unwavering, as usual.' Aramis bowed to her, grinning as he hit his shoulder.

'Shut up, you.' She shot at him, before preparing two slices of bread- she handed them to the two of them and together they sat at the scrubbed wooden table waiting for d'Artagnan.

'Is he in trouble?' She asked as she mixed the soup on the stove a moment later.

'Oh yes, a hanging offence...' Porthos sighed, shaking his head. 'Poor lad, so promising and all-'

'Shut up!' Constance shot back, shaking her head. 'That's not funny!'

'We're just here to return some property of his,' Aramis said, an easy grin on his face- he looked round the room before frowning at a small wicker basket by the door. 'That's new.' He commented, looking round at Constance as she smiled down at it. 'Go and see.' She said, nodding her head at the man as he looked at her quizzically. 'I don't think they'll bite.'

'They?' Porthos asked as Aramis slid from the chair and made his way to the basket- his frown was soon upturned in a smile as a soft mewling and purring could be heard. He grinned as he gently opened the top; a small gasp of delight escaped his lips as his eyes fell on two cats nestled together. 'Mon dieu...he whispered, picking one up and bringing it to his chest as he stood, running a hand down it's sleek black back.

'Look Porthos, cats!' He grinned, coming back to sit down. Porthos sniffed, angling himself away slightly.

'Never did like cats...' He grumbled as Aramis stroked it.

'Rubbish!' He retorted, turning the cat around so they were face to face. 'Aren't you a pretty cat!' He smiled, rubbing noses with it. He chuckled as he placed the cat back in his arms, before his eyes fell on Constance, who was smiling across at him.

'What? I love cats.' He offered as he stroked it. 'I always had one when I was younger, till it ran away...' He sighed, before busying himself stroking the cats ear as it rubbed it's head up against his hand. 'Where did you find them?'

'On the street, still in their basket, the poor things.' Constance sighed, before going to the door and calling for d'Artagnan again. 'He's probably changing; he came back really sweaty.'

'He's been working hard,' Porthos said proudly, 'he's a good lad.'

'That's good to hear.' Constance smiled. Porthos was about to reply when Aramis shoved the cat into his arms, before mentioning something about not leaving the other one out and darting for the basket again.

'Oh, look!' He cooed as he lifted up a small cat with straggly black hair and piercing blue eyes. 'Its Athos in cat form!'

Porthos would have barked out a laugh if he hadn't of been wiping suddenly burning eyes. 'Come and get this thing off me...' He muttered, wiping his streaming nose. 'Hate...cats...' He added as Constance took the cat off him.

'Didnt know you were adverse?' Aramis said, accepting the cat off Constance and sitting back down with two of them in his arms. 'But they're so cute!'

'No, they're full of fleas and hair!' Porthos grumbled, rubbing his nose. 'Dirty things...'

Aramis looked horror struck at the insinuation-'they are not! They're lovely!'

'How old are you, six?'

'I just like cats!'

'Well you can't keep them, they belong to Constance.' Porthos grinned, sniffing hard and sitting further away from his friend.

'Actually,' Constance muttered, turning to the two of them, 'I can't keep them- my husband also reacts badly to cat hair. I was only keeping them until I find someone to take them.' She added, smiling down as the cats started to settle and fall asleep on Aramis' chest. 'I don't suppose you-'

'No.' Porthos said pointedly, as Aramis started to smile. 'We can't keep them!'

'Well...the barracks are being overrun by mice, maybe-'

'No, Aramis!'

'But there are so many mice! Maybe a cat will help get rid of the problem...'

'God give me strength- you really are six years old, aren't you?' Porthos grumbled, standing up- just as he was about to shout up the stairs, d'Artagnan walked into the room, freshly washed and changed.

'Sorry for making you wait, I had to-' his voice cut off as Porthos stood up and headed for the door without a word, flinging it open and standing in a breeze. 'Not a cat person?' He ventured, grinning at Aramis as he held the cats.

'Who knew?' Aramis smiled, before standing up- he gently put the cats back into the basket and brushed himself off. 'I believe this is yours-' he muttered as he stood up straighter. He handed the young man a dagger, caked in mud. 'You dropped it as you left- good job you did it around friends; do it around enemies on the battlefield and see how long it'll take before you're stabbed in the back.' He warned, nodding as the younger man out it in his pocket.

'Thank you.' He said.

'Don't mention it- we thought we better give it back.' Aramis smiled, waving the thanks away. 'Well,' he said, looking around the room. 'Our work here is done. Have a good evening to you both- thank you very much for the bread, my lady; much obliged.' He smiled, nodding his head in thanks.

'What about the cats?' Constance asked, looking down at the basket. 'Its a shame to put them back on the streets.'

'Leave it with me...' Aramis grinned, picking up the basket and holding it to his chest. 'I'm sure Captain Treville will be more than happy to have some barrack cats taking care of our mouse problem!' He added. 'No matter what Mr Grumpy-Breeches outside has to say!' He finished, winking at d'Artagnan as he passed. 'Yes, I'm sure Alphonse and Jacques will make a good team!' He said as he made for the door, grinning down at the cats in his arms.

'Come on, mon ami...' He said to Porthos as he passed him on the street, a broad smile on his face. 'We've got to get these kitties settled in before we can head to the tavern!'

'You've got to be kidding me...' Porthos groaned as he followed him at a reasonable distance, wiping his runny nose as he went, eyeing Aramis and his basket of cats with a stern frown.


	4. D is for Drowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> D is for Drowning....

Aramis sighed atop his horse, stretching his arms into the sky to get rid of the knots in his shoulder muscles. He looked across to Porthos, who was staring steadfastly ahead at the road, before yawning widely. 'Could catch a fly in that!' Aramis grinned, before stifling a yawn in response.

'A moth is more likely.' Athos piped up, brushing hair out of his eyes. D'Artagnan snorted beside them, running a hand down his face as the midday sun beat down on them all.

'Soon it'll be bedtime...' Aramis moaned, eyes closed against the sunny glare. 'I haven't slept in two days...'

'Check out the old man over there!' Porthos teased, before stopping his horse and swinging a leg off. 'Let's just stop a minute, eh?' He asked Athos as he bent his legs to get some feeling back in them. 'The horses are parched!'

Athos nodded and quickly got off his own horse, stretching as he led her to the wide lake they had been riding next to. 'We've made good time,' he nodded as he stroked her side, before his stomach growled under his tunic. 'Don't suppose any of you have food left?'

They were returning to Paris after delivering a message on the King's behalf to a wealthy Lord and landowner that he wanted to keep sweet. The task has been easy and short, and now they had instructions to be back in time for evening to support Treville at an official ball.

Aramis rooted through his leather pack, fingers grasping on only air until he caught an apple in the corner. 'Alas, only fruit,' he grumbled, shining it on his breeches. 'Would have preferred cheese..'

'Well I'm glad you didn't have any!' Porthos piped up as he led his own horse to the water. 'I'm riding downwind from you!'

'What are you insinuating?' Aramis asked pointedly, a smile tugging at his lips. 'Are you saying dishonourable unmentionables come forth from my posterior after I partake in the consumption of delicious dairy goods?'

'...you're talking about farting, right?'

'Porthos, at least try to be a bit more couth and gentlemanly!'

'Say what you mean, man!' Porthos teased, before nodding with a chuckle. 'Yes, that is what I mean- I had that unfortunate job last time...'

Aramis chuckled, before taking a bite out of the apple- he grimaced immediately, eyes scrunched in disgust. 'Rotten...' He groaned, spitting out remnants of soft fruit from his mouth before giving the rest to his horse. 'Sorry guys...' He added, as his comrades moaned.

'Alright, we're not far from home, we won't starve to death...' D'Artagnan muttered, sniffing- his horse bowed her head at the water's edge, and soon the four men were stood in silence, admiring the scenery of the lake for a few minutes.

They soon became aware that they weren't quite alone- a man and a child no more than ten were stood a little way away, in a small copse of forest to their left. The child had a musket in his hands, and was obviously being tutored by his father, who was pointing to various parts and talking in whispers.

Aramis smiled at the sight; he always liked to see the younger generation getting to grips with weapons.

Suddenly, the child pressed the trigger- the blast would have sent him off his feet if it hadn't of been for his father, who was able to take the gun away and catch him at the same time.

The horses had an altogether different reaction- Aramis yelled in alarm and ran forwards as they bolted into the lake in fear, splashing around with panicked snorts and whinnies.

'Here, here! He called, rushing into the water with the others to quell their horse's panic. 'Steady!' He managed to loop his hand around the reigns of d'Artagnan's big black steed, but panic flared as it seemed to take no notice- he pulled it around but that only made it panic more. 'Steady girl!' He cried, feeling the water rush to his midrif; suddenly the horse turned, eyes wide and wild. Before Aramis could react it barrelled into him, snorting.

He released her as he fell into the water, but the horse kept on coming, jarring his head with a powerful leg. He saw stars even under the water, and flailed desperately for the surface….

Athos cursed the child and his father as he and the other two managed to get all the horses back onto the bank- sopping wet, he shook his head like a dog to get rid of the plants that had settled there. 'Brilliant, absolutely brilliant...' He growled, before Porthos flung a hand to his chest.

'Where's Aramis?'

'What? He's-' Athos looked around them all, eyes growing wider as it dawned on him. He looked up at Porthos, then back at the lake. 'Surely not?'

Together the three of them ran full-pelt at the lake, eyes searching. 'There!' Athos cried as he saw a hand scrabble for the surface.

'Can't he swim?' D'Artagnan asked as they waded out to him.

'Of course he can!' Athos shot back. That was what was worrying him. He dived under the water to grasp the hand, panic flaring as he felt it was limp in his fingers. He pulled Aramis up by his underarms, hoisting him above the surface- Porthos came forwards and together they managed to get him to the bank.

'Aramis!' Porthos cried as his friend lay on the bank, unmoving. 'Come on...' He added desperately- he looked across at Athos, who had gone deathly white. None of them knew how to deal with this.

Porthos did the only thing he thought would help- he pummelled his chest, hoping to beat the air back into him.

'Come on, come on...' Athos pleaded, praying to God that he'd be ok.

Just as all hope was beginning to fade entirely, Porthos gave him one strike in the chest- Aramis suddenly reared up with a garbled breath, before turning to his side and brining up lake water in a stream. Athos sat back with a cry of abject relief- he looked at Porthos, who also sank back, face pale.

Aramis turned to them all, coughing harshly as he fought to get air back into his lungs- he winced as he pawed at a cut to his head. 'Horses?' He asked, eyes roving for his own. 'All...ok?'

'You've just almost drowned, and you're worrying about the horses?' D'Artagnan muttered, eyebrow quirked.

Athos grinned though, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing hard. 'Thought you were dead for sure...' He whispered. Aramis nodded, still coughing and retching onto the stony bank.

Porthos couldn't express himself with words; he wrapped his large arms around his friend and squeezed lightly, laughing through his panic. 'You're a tough man to kill!' He chuckled as he let him go. Aramis grinned at that, nodding, before massaging his chest. 'Who's been dancing on my chest?' He asked, face softening as Porthos raised a hand. 'Thank you, mon ami.' He said, nodding gratefully.

'Well, I couldn't just let you die, could I?' Porthos replied as they all stood- He and Athos took hold of either side of Aramis and hauled him up, making sure he could stand freely before letting go. 'Besides, who will I moan to about cheesy farts and expensive drinking?'

Aramis snorted out a laugh as he gingerly sat back atop his horse. He stroked her wet mane, breathing in deeply.

'Are you sure you can continue?' Athos asked as he moved forwards, eyes full of concern.

'Well, unless you've brought a tent, some food and a barrel-load of ale, I'd rather go with you, if you don't mind?' Aramis retorted, smiling.

'Damn, almost got rid of him...' D'Artagnan teased, winking.

'Why you little Gascon whelp!' Aramis shot back, mock insulted. 'You just wait, lad!' He promised, and soon they were on the road again, all in need of some good alcohol and some dry clothes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry- not all of these will just feature hurt!Aramis...the other characters do get a look in too!  
> Thanks for reading, and please comment!


	5. E is for Exhaustion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> E is for Exhaustion.....

'Lunge, d'Artagnan, lunge!' Aramis growled, prowling around the two men as they duelled. The barracks were empty save the four of them, and d'Artagnan wiped sweat from his eyes as Athos took his momentary lapse of movement and lunged himself- 'block it!' Aramis warned as he stepped backwards, out of the way of the blades as the two men parried in the sand.

'That's it...that's it!' Aramis shouted, a pleased grin on his face as Athos was pushed back. 'Get him!' He added as d'Artagnan pushed forwards, eyes narrowed in concentration. Athos swiftly sidestepped the blade, twisting around before bringing his blade up. 'Ah, almost!' Aramis grinned, looking to Porthos. 'The lad's not bad!' He called, nodding at the young man as he and Athos carried on their duel.

It had now been a couple of days since Treville had said d'Artagnan could stay and train as a musketeer, or at least take up a good amount of training- once Aramis had stopped making jokes about lost puppies and bringing things in from the cold, that was.

Their time had been spent since getting him up to shape with polishing his movements and adding to his already vast repertoire of skills- they had all been pleasantly surprised when he took Porthos down after only the sixth try (apart from Porthos, who insisted it was a fluke and blamed it entirely on his heavy lunch causing his moments to become uncharacteristically sluggish.)

It was a lot to pack in, but Treville said he wanted him up to standard as soon as possible, so that meant early starts, late ends and hard days- every new recruit had to do more than their usual share during the first few days. It was the "make them or break them" stage, as Aramis loved to call it- if a man survived the first week or so, he was good to go.

D'Artagnan, it seemed, had taken these words to heart- not once did he complain when Treville sent him on a mission to find a scroll of 'vitally important' information that turned out to be the Cardinal's laundry list (that had been an interesting discovery), and neither did he object when he was tasked with cleaning the garrison's boots one night when they all went to the tavern...sure, he cursed and blasted them when they were gone, but he did the job, and twice as fast as any man before him.

Aramis turned as Athos grunted, feigning to his left as d'Artagnan wobbled on some unpracticed footwork- 'dodge left, dodge left!' He warned, but the lad got his legs mixed up, falling hard on his backside on the sand.

'...or, fall over.' Aramis snorted, wiping his own sweaty hands on his trousers. 'Good try, get up.'

D'Artagnan stayed where he was however, breathing hard on the ground. 'You alright?' Athos asked, sheathing his weapon and coming to stand near him. 'Feel lightheaded?'

'A bit...' D'Artagnan nodded, squinting up at him. 'Just give me a minute.'

Athos nodded, holding out a hand, 'best to walk it off.' He advised as d'Artagnan stood up unsteadily. 'Keep moving your muscles.' The lad had been up since dawn, working almost solidly since.

D'Artagnan nodded, stretching his legs and arms out, feeling them protest at the movement. His head swam, but he pushed it away as Aramis laughed at him- he knew he wasn't being spiteful, or meant to hurt his feelings; but by the way he was feeling, he was ready to go at anyone now.

'The lad can't take it!' Aramis grinned, but he himself frowned as the younger man seemed to pale right in front of his eyes.

'I'm going to get a drink.' D'Artagnan muttered, slowly heading away from the men and to a small shaded room where they kept a jug of cool water. 'Make sure you're ready to come back for some serious fun!' Aramis called after him, chuckling. He looked across at Athos, who gave him a half smile. 'We've been working him too hard.' He muttered.

'Nonsense.' Aramis replied, wiping his sweaty brow. 'He's alright- he's too green, that's what it is.'

Athos was about to retort when they heard a crashing from the room d'Artagnan had just walked into- 'd'Artagnan?' Athos called, before all their eyes widened as a small pool of water came rolling from the room darkening the sand as it trailed it's way down towards them.

They darted for the room, Aramis in front- he looked down in the direction of the far corner, eyes taking in the dropped clay jug, now split on the ground. D'Artagnan was slumped in the corner from where he had fallen, and was now weakly trying to get back up to a standing positing.

'Steady lad...' Aramis warned, getting to his knees and moving the young man to face him; his face was pale, clammy, and a thin sheen of sweat lay on his skin. 'Did you lose consciousness?' He asked as he gently moved him so he was sitting again.

'Don't think so...' D'Artagnan muttered, wiping a shaky hand down his face. 'What happened?'

'Exhaustion, lad.' Athos grunted from the shade, Aramis craned his neck round, looking for something to cool him down with.

'Aramis, wet cloth?' He asked, before deftly undoing the buttons on d'Artagnan's leather jerkin. 'You need to cool down- you could overheat and do more damage.' He explained as the young man gave him a quizzical look. 'Don't worry, I may like my carnal pleasures, but be assured that you are quite safe!' He added, winking at him as he exposed the young man's neck. D'Artagnan snorted out a laugh and rested his head on the wall, squeezing his eyes shut. 'Feels like I'm on a ship...' He mused.

Porthos chuckled from above them. 'Ah, nostalgia.' He grinned, giving Aramis a slight kick with his boot. 'Remember when I fell over when the captain got me to carry all those cannonballs?'

'That was a bet you took whilst drunk- you only have yourself to blame, my friend!' Aramis shot back, before Athos returned and handed him the wet cloth.

'Here,' he said, handing it to d'Artagnan. 'Wipe your face.' He sat back as the young man did as he was told, before staring up at the three musketeers looking down at him, their eyes full of brotherly concern. 'So, what now?' He asked.

'You're excused for the rest of the day.' Athos said, holding out his hand again. 'We've worked you hard enough these past few days- go home, get some rest.'

'This doesn't make me weak.' D'Artagnan pointed out, eyeing the trio for any sign that they thought he wasn't up for the job as he accepted the hand and stood.

'Who said it did?' Aramis asked lightly, smiling at him- he put an arm on his shoulder and squeezed. 'Go on, out- when you get to our age you'll be begging for time off, and trust me- it never comes!'

D'Artagnan smiled at that, and nodded his thanks at them- he cautiously began walking, feeling again the wash of lightheadedness as he passed them.

'You sure you'll be ok?' Porthos asked, eyebrow quirked. 'You look a tad unsteady.'

'I'll be alright, it's not far...' D'Artagnan said as he turned back, waving away the concern. 'See you guys tomorrow?'

'Bright and early!' Aramis smiled, and the three of them stood watching as he made his way outmoded the door and down the sandy path to the door.

'Well,' Aramis asked after a minute or so, turning to the other two. 'Whose for a duel?' He turned to Athos who gave him a small smile. 'Best of three? The loser buys the first two rounds?'

'Never gonna happen, mate!' Porthos grinned, unsheathing his weapon as they all stood outside- he and Athos stood together, both primed and ready.'Not with two against one!'

Aramis grinned, already bent low for the incoming attacks- 'I never did like thinking of odds...' He chuckled, eyeing them both. 'But I'll take 'em!'

For the next half an hour all that could be heard was the crashing of metal on metal and the laughter of three men as they fought the afternoon away...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	6. F is for Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> F is for Fever

The annual winter sickness had been battering Paris for days, and everyone in the garrison was feeling the strain of working while feeling a little under the weather. The cold normally struck the very young or the very old, but was rarely fatal to anyone- that was best left to the influenza, which thankfully had not blighted the city for the last two winters.

Aramis had combatted all chances of getting the cold the way he usually did- by wrapping his scarf tight around his mouth and nose, with only his eyes protruding.

'You realise how much of an idiot you look?' Porthos said, chuckling as they rode side by side along the snowy path.

Aramis only have him a side look and cautiously pushed the material down- 'better ridiculous than sick!' He said, before pushing it back up. As he rode on Porthos snorted under his breath, before holding back a shudder as wind whipped at his face and ears.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The night was cold and wintry, but no one in the streets seemed to mind- the fire was roaring, the talk merry and warm as everyone enjoyed their evening. Aramis was dancing with a barmaid, his face flushed with warmth as he drank small glasses of strong alcohol, cheered on by onlookers.

'Look at him,' sniffed Porthos, where he was nursing a beer.

D'Artagnan looked round as the other man wiped his noseon his sleeve, grimacing at the trail he left behind.

'Looks like someone is under the weather!' He smiled, nudging Athos, who had just downed another ale.

'I'm fine.' Porthos grunted, voice thick as he sniffed. 'Just a bit snotty.'

'Lovely.' Athos muttered, angling himself away. 'D'artagnan, go and secure us another table- we don't want to get infected!' He chuckled as Porthos rolled his eyes.

'Give over- I'm fine!' He objected, his nose stuffy. Actually, his throat hurt a little...

A sudden cheer told them that Aramis was finished with his latest drinking game- he laughed as he bounded back to the table; d'Artagnan made a protesting sound as Aramis took hold of his drink and downed it in one. 'Cheers!' He grinned, ruffling his hair.

'Aramis you're drunk, sit down.' Athos muttered, rolling his eyes.

'And what? So are you!' Aramis chuckled, sliding into his seat. 'Just because I look better while being drunk!' He teased, poking his tongue out at him.

'On the contrary,' Athos chided, downing his drink. 'I look exceptionally debonair whilst doing so, thank you-'

'Debon-hair maybe!' Aramis snorted, reaching over the table and ruffling Athos's thick hair.

Porthos snorted at that, but a pulsing headache was forming behind his eyes. 'I'm going to call it a night, lads...' He muttered, standing up. 'Don't feel all that great.'

'Told you so!' D'Artagnan grinned, earning a look from the older man.

'Take mr sparky with you- he could do with an early night as well.' Athos said, nodding at Aramis, who opened his mouth wide in protest.

'Honestly, you're just like my dad! He didn't want me to have fun either!' He groaned, but as Porthos put a large hand on his shoulder, he relented. 'Fine- I'll make sure mister "I won't get ill" gets home alright...if you insist.'

'Hey, whose looking after who here?' Porthos chuckled, wiping a hand down his face. Aramis grinned up at him, before standing up, wobbly on his feet.

'Come on then- homeward bound!' He said, pointing to the door.

Porthos was starting to feel much worse as he opened the door to his room- his head was swimming, and his face was starting to feel very warm, even in the cold of night.

'Home sweet home...' He muttered, yawning widely.

Aramis walked into the room, eyes roving for the drink cupboard he knew Porthos kept- only he was privy to it's whereabouts, thanks to nights of card games with his friend.

'Do you mind?' He asked as he already poured a finger of whiskey into a glass.

'Do I have a choice?' Porthos shot back, frowning at his shaky knees as he sank onto his bed. 'Oi, don't be selfish!' He called- Aramis grinned and poured Athos a glass too, before quickly getting himself another.

They sat in a companionable silence as Aramis drank and Porthos sipped, but all Porthos could think of was his headache- now his ear was beginning to throb.

He stared out of the dark window, sniffing thickly as his nose filled up with snot. He groaned, blinking suddenly tired eyes. 'I think I'm going to call it a night 'Mis...' His voice trailed off as soft snoring met his ears.

'Unbelievable...' He muttered as he saw Aramis on the floor, fast asleep. He rolled his eyes, smiling despite his discomfort, and shrugged out of his jacket. He got up to put his glass on the table, before draping his jacket on top of his sleeping friend.

He sighed and walked back to his own bed, lying there until cold made him turn to get warm. He closed his eyes, feeling the room spin slightly. He lay like that for a while before darkness finally claimed him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Aramis woke to the scent of smoke, pine and soil. He breathed in deeply before yawning and pushing the thick coat off his shoulders, the warmth instantly missed.

Swallowing a mixture of morning breath and alcohol almost made him retch, so he stood to fetch himself a glance of water- he stood for a second, utterly confused at his whereabouts. It dawned on him as he saw he wasn't in his own room. This was Porthos' room, large and spacious. He smiled happily, pouring himself some water from the night before and taking a swig.

He looked over at the bed, chuckling as he spotted a large lump in the middle of it, moving up and down with each breath.

He moved over to it, and was just about to shout at him to wake up when he noticed that his friend really didn't look right. He frowned as he saw his face was very sweaty, but his skin was pale.

'Porthos?' He muttered, gently prodding him. The bigger man groaned and swatted his hand away. 'Five more minutes...' He muttered.

Aramis smiled despite his worry, but he frowned again as he saw Porthos' teeth where chattering together. 'You don't look right at all.'

'Don't feel right either...' Porthos muttered, opening bleary eyes to stare at him.

'Looks like a fever.'

'...Never would have guessed.' Porthos muttered, before he moved in his bed so he was facing the wall, meaning his back was facing Aramis.

'Charming!' He chuckled, sniffing himself.

He went over and got hold of the coat Porthos had put over him, and instead draped it over Porthos now. 'Best thing to do is sweat out a fever...' He mused, before grasping hold of the pillow Porthos was using and plumping it up.

'What? Trust me, I'm a medic!' He chuckled as porthos turned to glare at him.

'Medic my arse...you're just a little more knowledgeable than the rest of us!'

'You wound me, mon ami.'

'Just give me my pillow back!'

'Fine..' Aramis smiled, gently putting it back. He stood back, surveying the scene. 'I'll go and get you some water; you're going to need to keep your fluids up.' He added, making for the door.

'Hey,' Porthos called from the bed, voice muffled. 'Even hungover you make a good medic.' He said, eyes glassy with the fever as he looked over at the other man. 'Thanks.'

'Soyez le bienvenu.' Aramis grinned, bowing before heading out of the door, loud coughing now meeting his ears even as he walked down the hallway to the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Next chapter up tomorrow! Please comment! x


	7. G is for Gunshot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> G is for Gunshot....

The day was quiet, too quiet for King Louis, it seemed. The young king had proclaimed himself bored, and kept barging into the Cardinal's study, demanding something to do that wasn't signing papers, reading papers or talking to commoners and the resulting paperwork that followed. The cardinal had soon taken to doing nothing whatsoever, as every time the King entered his room, boots stomping on the floor as he walked up to his desk, he lost his train of thought completely.

After the third time- after the cardinal had suggested croquet, reading, and merely talking to Anne to pass the time, the King demanded a walk. The cardinal tried to persuade him to take a walk in the grounds, perhaps walk with Anne in the gardens, or to the pond.

But alas, the King wanted excitement, he proclaimed! He wanted fun! He wanted to walk in the wood instead, to take in real air!

And so it was that Athos, Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan ended up babysitting the king of France as he meandered along a small copse of woodland just outside the Palace. Treville had a lot to answer for, mused Athos as he rolled his eyes as the King tripped on a root. 'Careful, your highness.' He muttered, stepping closer. 'Wouldn't want you to break your ankle...'

'No, quite right!' The King chuckled, lifting his feet off the ground to ensure no more trips. 'This is frightfully exciting, isn't it?'

'Frightfully...' Porthos breathed, earning a small chuckle from Aramis as they walked together a little further back.

'I should do this more often!' Louis proclaimed, nodding. 'Yes, every weekend I shall call on you to accompany me here...I could make a real habit of this walking lark!'

'It would be our pleasure, your majesty.' Athos said, whilst internally screaming. This was just what they needed on top of their other duties. 'Perhaps Aramis and Porthos could spend a day scouting possible routes? Otherwise it'll get boring doing the same walk.' He added, shooting his friends a smile- two stony faces looked back, each fervently shaking their heads.

'What an excellent idea!' Louis replied, turning to the men and nodding- they quickly plastered honoured smiles onto their faces.

'We would love that, your majesty.' Porthos smiled through gritted teeth.

'Such a privilege to serve you, your majesty.' Aramis added, bowing swiftly, his hat hiding his grimace.

'How lucky am I to have such devoted musketeers?' Louis mused to himself, before turning and continuing to walk- Aramis shook his head at Athos, who resisted an urge to snort.

D'Artagnan was a little further ahead, eyes scanning the small woodland with narrow eyes.

'Everything ship-shape up there?' Louis called- Athos rolled his eyes once more.

'Perhaps you shouldn't shout so loud, your highness.' He muttered- they were in public land, after all.

'And why ever not?' Louis shot back, eyebrow quirked.

'You don't have France's most inconspicuous voice, your highness,' Athos replied, looking around. 'It might draw unwanted attention.'

'Oh, you mean a peasant? Well I-' the King's voice was cut off by the sound of a musket shot.

'Protect the King!' Athos cried, and Porthos pulled the King behind him, sword out, with Aramis centring himself behind him, musket out and ready.

'D'artagnan!' Athos yelled as he crossed the small wooded copse- a yell from in front of them was peppered with clashes of steel. 'D'artagnan!' His eyes widened as he saw the young man crossing swords with a man who had shielded his face with his scarf. The man was good. D'Artagnan was better.

Athos looked back to the others- the King was cowering in the middle of a musketeer sandwich, but it looked like no harm would come to him; d'Artagnan took care of that. A split second was all it took for Athos to take his eyes off the young man. A split second was all it took.

The blast of a musket, sudden and unexpected, made everyone jump with alarm- it was the strangled yelp from d'Artagnan that made Athos run down the small embankment and to his side. He took out his dagger- it was too late to get his musket ready to take a shot; the man in question was already scrambling up the hill- and threw it with all his might.

It was a long shot, and sure enough the blade fell with a dull clump at the man's feet; he didn't even look back.

Athos was on his knees beside d'Artagnan in an instant. 'Where have you been hit?' He asked urgently, eyes scanning the young man for blood- his eyes fell on his shoulder, which d'Artagnan clutched with an already bloody hand.

'Aramis!' He yelled, before taking off his scarf and thrusting it into the wound. 'Anywhere else?'

'No...' D'Artagnan groaned through gritted teeth, eyes squeezed shut. 'Damn him, he came out of nowhere…'

'These things happen, just relax now.' Athos instructed, before looking up as Aramis and Porthos ran up beside them- he turned to find out where the King was; he would have smiled if it had been a different situation. Louis was stood a little back, eyes round and wide, a silk handkerchief pressed to his mouth and nose as he took in the scene. 'Is he going to die?' He asked, voice high with anxiety.

'I bloody hope not!' D'Artagnan groaned out, before realising who he had just spoken to. 'Your Majesty.' He added, eyes once again screwing up.

Aramis deftly lifted the young man's hand, leaning in to take a good look at his shoulder. 'It's just clipped you.' He confirmed, pressing it back down. 'You need a couple of stitches, but you will make a full recovery, just-'

'Thank God for that!' Louis exclaimed, letting out a deep breath. 'I thought I was going to have to bury one of my favourite musketeers!'

D'Artagnan smiled despite his pain, chuckling as Athos rolled his eyes again. 'Let's get you up, then. 'He muttered, and together he and Aramis got him into a standing position. D'Artagnan hissed out a breath while Aramis held him steady, his hand around his own as he stemmed the bleeding. 'Keep a good amount of pressure on it.' He told him, before walking back to the King.

'It's unsafe for you to be here, your highness...perhaps walks around the palace grounds would be safer in future?'

'Oh, why can't anyone let me have just a moment's fun?' The King exclaimed to the heavens, sighing dramatically. 'It's terribly tedious being King.'

'Oh I bet...' Porthos muttered under his breath as they walked on, the King launching into an angry monologue as they made their way back to the palace. 'Daily assassination attempts must be so boring...'

Athos snorted lightly, before falling into step beside d'Artagnan, who had very pale. 'Let's go and get you sorted out.' He muttered, and they continued their walk to the palace- each sure that the sound of their King's voice would haunt their dreams for many nights to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!   
> Next chapter up soon! Please comment!


	8. H is for Hypothermia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> H is for hypothermia....

H is for hypothermia...

'There should be a law against going out in this weather...' Porthos grumbled as he pulled his cloak further around himself. The winter storm that had plagued most of France for the past three days was steadily getting worse- the musketeer moaned under his breath as large flakes settled in his eyebrows. The breath of his horse was steadily coming out in cloudy puffs, and as he settled in for the ride back to Paris he mused that it was like sitting on an ice box.

'You know what we haven't done?' Aramis muttered, blowing air out like he was smoking a pipe. He looked across at the other two; they regarded him with frosty, red faces.

'What's that?' Athos asked, shivering.

'A snowball fight!' Aramis replied, face impossibly cheery.

'Don't even think about it.' Athos said curtly, moving his horse further along the path to get out of the other man's range. 'We're not children anymore.'

'But it's snowing!' Aramis whined, pouting in the snowfall. 'Its the done thing when it's snowing!'

'If you're five, maybe,' Athos shot back, rolling his eyes. 'And you're not.'

Aramis grumbled and for a while all could be heard was the muffled silence of the horses moving along the road, and the occasional sniffles of the men riding them.

D'Artagnan looked around at the snowy expanse, at the frozen lake they were ambling alongside- he grinned as his eyes fell on Aramis. Porthos was also resisting an urge to chuckle as they watched him unhook one leg out from his stirrups, and -with the poise and dexterity of a cat- lean down and scoop up a handful of snow as his horse kept walking.

He caught the other two watching, and pressed a leather-gloved finger to his lips, winking across at d'Artagnan as he took aim. Seconds later he threw it as hard as he could; an alarmed yelp from Athos told them all he had hit his mark.

The man in question rubbed snow from the back of his head, shuddering as it trickled down the back of his neck- he shot Aramis a glare; Aramis looked back, face a picture of innocence. 'What happened there then?' He asked, voice high with confusion.

'I said no.' Athos only said, voice as icy as the snow around them. 'Stop it.'

Aramis reacted by laughing and crossing his arms. 'Make me, mon ami.' He challenged, eyes alight as Athos sighed.

'Aramis I'm warning you...' Athos growled, but as he turned back to continue on their way he had to hide a small smile- he could be such a child sometimes...

'I don't take well to warnings, you know,' Aramis replied, leaning over again. 'I tend to do the things I'm warned against.'

'We've noticed.' D'Artagnan quipped, smiling. Aramis grinned in his direction at that.

Athos turned round in his horse, about to repeat his remark that he should stop- what he got was a face full of snow, the abject cold making him shudder. 'Alright, that's it-' he muttered as the other three laughed. Within seconds he had hopped down from his horse and trudged across to Aramis, who was trying to get away, laughing hard.

'Now now, Athos!' He cried, yelping as Athos did no more than take hold of his coat and pull down hard- with a cry that was a mixture of alarm and humour he was pulled from his horse, landing on the snowy ground with a thump.

Athos laughed as he began piling snow on his friend, making sure every inch of him was covered- Aramis may be bigger than he, but he had the relentless strength.

'Do you yield?' He asked the snowy head of his friend as Aramis laughed. The man looked up at him, brushing snow from his face.

'The question is, my dear friend...do you?' He asked, before scrambling up and tackling Athos around the middle, sending him off his feet. Porthos guffawed out a laugh as he and d'Artagnan watched from atop their horses as the two men wrestled in the snow. 'What an example of the honour and professionalism that musketeers adhere to, eh?' He asked, turning to a grinning d'Artagnan. 'Hope you know what you've signed up for, boy.'

They turned as Athos yelled out his surrender- Aramis had pinned him to the snowy bank of the lake, his face pressed against the thick snow.

'Do you yield?' The man on top of him yelled, grinning all the while.

'You're going to get yours, you-' Athos' voice was obscured by Aramis pushing a mound of snow over his mouth. 'I yield!' He yelped after spitting it out. 'Get off me you giant child!'

Aramis grinned and stood up, wiping snow from his jerkin and looking triumphantly over at the other two. 'Long live the king!' He laughed, before holding out a hand for Athos to grab so he could pull him out of the drift.

Athos shook his head with a grin, accepting the hand- he suddenly pushed out at Aramis' chest, intending him to fall down into the snow that he had pushed him into. Unfortunately, it seemed Aramis didn't get that message; the man stumbled backwards, determined to keep his feet and prove his superiority.

His eyes widened as he felt his boots connect to the hard and slipper surface of the frozen lake- the ice crackled alarming, and Aramis' arms flailed as a portion of it gave way. The ice collapsed beneath his feet, sending his legs plunging into the frozen, brackish water.

'Aramis!' Athos cried, reaching forwards and taking hold of his friend's hands as his midrif sank under the water too. Slowly but surely he managed to heave him upwards, until Aramis was back on hard ground.

'Mon dieu!' He exclaimed, teeth immediately chattering. 'That's bloody cold!'

Athos looked across at him worriedly as they stood up, 'do you have a change of clothes?' He asked, hoping that his friend had been at least a little sensible.

'No...' Aramis admitted, face red as he clambered up on top of his horse, shuddering. 'We're nearly home now, I'll be alright.' He reassured them all, before digging his heels into his horse and leading the others as they continued on, still chuckling despite the cold enveloping him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Porthos soon came to the conclusion that his friend was far from alright- he rode a little behind Aramis as their horses meandered their way over the frozen ground in the direction of Paris, so he had a good view. His friend was shivering a lot, but he really couldn't blame him- what he could blame him for was his downright refusal to take Porthos' dry clothes out of his pack and put them on. 'You may need it soon, and then you'll be the one in need!' He had said, shaking his head even as Porthos had them in his hands ready to give to him.

Athos was worried for him too- normally, even when cold or hot or exhausted, Aramis would always be the life and soul of the group, trying to make everyone else feel better about the situations they'd find themselves in- now the absence of it was worrying.

'Nearly there...' He spoke into the silence, the night now beginning to press in on them. 'We just need to- merde!' He growled as they turned the corner on the main road to the city- a tree had fallen across the road, making it impossible for them to get across. There was a forest to their left, but it was crisscrossed with trees and holly bushes, with no proper path.

'Just our l-l-luck...' Aramis muttered, teeth chattering together audibly as he attempted a smile that no one else shared.

'We just go around.' Porthos muttered, not willing to waste anymore seconds than needed.

'We can't take the horses round there properly.' Athos replied, sighing. He looked across to Aramis, who was in the middle of suppressing a shudder.

'W-walk?'

'It'll be the death of you.'

'So what else do you suggest?' D'Artagnan muttered, his own hands freezing even in their gloves.

Athos turned back and pointed back down the road they had just came up. 'I saw a side road that farmers sometimes use to get heavy crops into the city. We'll take that road and get to Paris that way.'

The others nodded their agreement, and began to move their horses around and slowly go back up.

As they rode on the snowfall began to get gradually worse- Aramis didn't even really feel the cold anymore, he mused to himself as he tensed atop his horse. He just felt numb, like his skin had swelled. He felt sluggish, tired. He wasn't tired, he was sure of it...but an hour of complete rest sounded like heaven right about now.

He was vaguely aware of a deep, rumbling noise so where to his left- it took him a few seconds to realise that it was Athos talking to him. '...get you out of the snow soon...' He heard, and he blinked slightly as his friend swam in front of his eyes.

'S-snow?' He muttered, the only word he could think of. 'Cold.'

'I know, I know...we're nearly there now...' Athos said, alarm bells ringing in his head as Aramis nodded dopily at his words, eyes going in and out of focus.

'W-what I wouldn't g-give for su-some h-heat right now...' He muttered, lips numb and raw.

'I think that's something we can all agree on.' Athos nodded, shivering. He looked over as Aramis dropped the reigns of his horse, before clumsily reaching for them and almost overbalancing.

'Here, it's ok...' Athos muttered, scooping up the reigns and holding them tight in his own hands. 'Just sit still...' He added, noting Aramis' pale face. 'We're nearly home now.'

'Nearly...h-home...' Aramis repeated, breathing out deeply. 'W-where are w-we?'

Athos shot a look at Porthos, who was looking on, eyes swamped with concern.

'You're just outside of Paris, remember?' Athos said firmly, eyes boring into the other man's. 'We're going home.'

'H-home?' Aramis said, eyes opening wide. 'Yes.'

'Good, now just try and relax, and we'll get you home.' Athos replied, before moving his horse closer to his friend's to be next to him. Aramis nodded again, teeth chattering together.

They rode on for a few minutes until Athos noticed that Aramis' head was starting to loll. 'Hey..' He muttered, touching his shoulder lightly- his head sprang up, instantly alert, before his eyes relaxed, sluggish once more.

'C-can't f-feel my f-f-f-feet...' He whispered, sniffing. 'S'gone all numb...' Athos' eyes widened at the way he slurred his words.

'Aramis, I need you to hold on, just for a few more-' his voice was cut off as Aramis suddenly keeled sideways with a groan. 'No!' He cried, scrambling off his horse as Aramis hit the snow with a thump. Porthos was next to him in an instant, checking that he was still breathing.

'He's still got a pulse...' He said, the relief evident on his voice.

'He won't have soon.' Athos growled. They were still quite a way from Paris, and Aramis needed help now. An idea struck him, and seconds later he turned to d'Artagnan, who was already sorting fresh, dry clothes out from everyone's pack. 'Get all the horses.' He told him, taking the clothes from him, plus the thin blankets that they had used in the evenings.

'Quickly, bring him here...' He instructed Porthos, before taking each horse in turn and getting them to lay down- hopefully one would stay down long enough for their body heat to transfer to Aramis.

Porthos gathered his friend in his arms and gently half-dragged, half-carried him into the circle of horses.

'We need to get him out of his clothes and put the dry ones on.' He added, sorting through the clothes. Porthos nodded and they got to work, deftly removing the old, sopping clothes and replacing them with a layer of warm clothes. Porthos started to shrug off the coat from his back, but Athos stopped him with a curt look. 'You keep that on, the last thing we need is for you to freeze too!'

Porthos grumbled and put it back on, knowing Athos was right. 'Is that all the blankets we had?'

'We didn't expect that one of us would be pushing the other into a freezing lake, did we?' Athos retuned, guilt trickling like the snow had down his back.

'This ain't your fault.' Porthos muttered with a comforting smile. 'You were just messing around.'

Athos nodded as Aramis moaned between them, coming back to consciousness. 'Are w-we back?' He asked groggily, eyes roving the scene- his eyes fell on the discarded jacket that the other two had placed on the floor. His eyes widened and he tried to bite back a cry of alarm- he tried to scramble away, to get away from the scene; when Athos tried to push him back down he merely buried his face in his side, now shaking again.

'What the..? Porthos muttered, before realisation finally dawned. 'Put that jacket away!' He called to d'Artagnan, and as the half-frozen clothing was put into a bag Athos gently held Aramis and pulled his face around so their eyes met.

'Its alright, it was just a jacket, not a body...' He whispered comfortingly. 'You're not there, you're with us...it's alright, you're safe.' He added, voice low.

'What's wrong?' D'Artagnan muttered as he returned, the clothes no longer in sight.

'Savoy.' Porthos replied, voice and eyes dark.

'We'll explain later.' Athos added, looking down at his friend's terrified face. 'Its alright, you're ok, we're all here..' He muttered, an arm around his shoulder as he gingerly rubbed his arm to warm him up.

'We have t-to go!' Aramis whispered urgently, eyes darting around.

'No, we're staying here- we need to get you warm, we-'

'We're sa-sitting targets st-staying here!' Aramis replied over a shudder- Porthos had to put both arms on him to stop him from scrambling away.

'No, stop 'Mis..' He growled as Aramis weakly struggled against him. It was no use- Athos' eyes widened as his friend desperately tried to get away, out of the way of possible enemy fire.

'Alright, alright!' He finally cried, taking Aramis' freezing face in his hands and angling him so they were facing each other. 'We're safe, I promise you! We're in a place where they can't find us.' He doubted whether Aramis knew what was really happening, so giving in to his fantasy seemed like a logical option.

'Are you s-sure?' His friend replied in a voice that broke Athos' heart. 'P-promise?'

'I promise.' Athos nodded, before realising he needed to be firm. 'Now pull yourself together, solider- everyone has their job to do!' He ordered, making his voice as authoritative as he could muster. 'D'artagnan- blankets, these men are cold!' He barked. D'Artagnan nodded and hurried off to find some more dry things, despite knowing they had given Aramis everything they had.

'Porthos, tend to the wounded- start with this one!' He said next nodding to Aramis. Porthos nodded, face stoic and set in an anxious expression.

'And Aramis-' he looked across at the man, snapping his fingers at him when he saw he was still staring into the distance with wide eyes. 'Aramis! I need you on form!' He ordered, wondering why he hadn't realised that it was still him that was giving the orders, not his commanding officer.

'I need you on lookout, ok?' He said, hopeful that he has the easiest job of the lot. 'Can you do that for me?' Aramis didn't even look round, he was too busy staring off beyond the horses.

'I said can you do that for me?'

'Y-yes..' Aramis nodded, teeth still chattering together.

'Good.' Athos muttered, shuffling so he was as close to Aramis as he could be without sitting on top of him. 'We can move soon, I just want to make sure you're ok first.' He said into the top of his head- Aramis was still freezing, but the clothes were dry, and coupled with the heat coming from the horses, it wouldn't be long till they could move again.

The minutes ticked by like hours as they waited for Aramis to heat up just enough so it could be safe to move him- finally Athos could stand the waiting no longer.

'Alright, it's safe to move now...' He started, but Aramis gripped his arm tightly, the hand shaking.

'N-n-no...they wa-wait in the t-trees...' He whispered, eyes round. 'We ha-have to s-stay h-here...'

'We have to move or you'll freeze to death!' Athos argued, breaking his character. 'You don't have a choice- we're getting you out of here.'

Aramis sank back, shaking his head and shivering with cold- Porthos stood and readied his horse, before looking at Athos, who was still huddled beside Aramis to help conserve his body heat.

'He won't be able to ride on his own.'

Athos nodded, breathing in hard, before looking back up at him, face set. 'Get up on yours, and I'll pass him up- you can ride on ahead and get him help. If we all go together he'll only be slowed down.'

Porthos nodded and immediately got onto his horse, arms quickly out to receive the other man.

'W-where are we going?' Aramis' voice was high with confusion as Athos dragged him upright, supporting him as he sagged against him.

'We have to get back to Paris- no time to lose.' Athos said,giving him a small smile. 'You did well.' He added, before passing his arms up to Porthos, who latched hold of them with strong hands. Together the two of them managed to get Aramis in front of Porthos, where he sat leaning against him, shuddering.

'See you back in the city.' Porthos grunted, an arm tight around his friend's chest to stop him from falling- with a short nod from Athos he spurred his horse forwards, and soon they were a black smudge against a snowy backdrop.

Athos breathed in deeply, praying that Aramis would be ok- d'Artagnan handed him the reigns of his horse, and the two of them mounted their steeds quickly.

'He'll be alright, won't he?' D'Artagnan asked as they made their way along the snowy path, picking up speed.

'Of course he will.' Athos replied, hoping he was right. 'Lets go.' He added, and the two of them picked up the pace even more, each man's thoughts solely on Aramis.


	9. I is for Itch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I is for Itch....

The four musketeers stood in practised formation with the whole garrison, just to the side of the King. Their boots had been polished so much they could see their reflections in them; their cloaks had been freshly washed at the King's expense, and their blades shone silver in the midday sun.

A powerful dignitary was arriving this morning, hopefully to sign a treaty with France that would also guarantee valuable trade routes. The King (and the Cardinal) were on edge, prepared.

As it was such a glorious day the King had proclaimed that the meeting be outside in the grounds; he had had trees planted along the shingle path just for the occasion.

Aramis sighed to himself, his eyes threatening to droop closed- he had spent most of the night with the most charming woman, and had only just returned home to get an hour's sleep before he was up again.

He stifled a yawn, knowing that showing his tiredness would get him into trouble with Treville, who was walking up and down his line of musketeers, commenting on everything from their uncut hair to slight scuffs on their boots. His eyes watered as he avoided the yawn, before producing a smile as Treville passed Athos and then looked to him.

The man looked him up and down, looking for faults. 'You've got dirt under your fingernails.' He muttered tersely, uncharacteristically snappish. Aramis nodded astutely, 'My apologies, sir.' He confirmed, 'I shall sort them out later.'

'You better do.' Came his reply, before he was off again, looking to d'Artagnan and Porthos on his other side. He let out a small sigh of relief, before stifling another yawn.

'How much longer?' He whispered out of the corner of his mouth to Athos. 'I'm falling asleep here!'

'He is due to arrive at one.' Athos replied, eyes fixed forwards. Aramis nodded, hoping that it wasn't too far away.

They all stood in silence, save for the King moaning about the heat, and then at the waiting time, and then for the fact that his wine was getting warm...Athos found himself rolling his own eyes. He rolled his shoulders in his leather coat under his blue cloak.

They had been training hard the previous night, and he had gone home for the first time without picking up his coat, which he had put onto a hay bale that the horses had to eat.

He had spent the morning in a panic when he woke up and realised that he couldn't find it- thankfully he had remembered it's whereabouts before he had to go up and beg Treville for another one to wear for the ceremony.

Now, as he moved around a little in the coat, he realised that leaving it on top of a hay bale probably wasn't the best thing to do. He had picked off the obvious bits of hay and brushed down the dust, but by the feel of things some little creatures had decided that this was their new home.

His eyes widened at the first small flash of pain in his back, followed immediately by a horrible tickling sensation. Not here, not now... He thought, looking at the scores of nobles from the court that had also assembled to greet the dignitary.

Another bite, another itch- he rolled his shoulders again, but the feeling only got worse; he resisted an urge to moan out in frustration as they mingled together. He gingerly moved an arm behind his back, itching over the leather- he almost swore as his fingers didn't even touch the itch; his arms were too short to reach...

'Aramis...' He whispered, barely using his mouth. 'Aramis!'

'Yes?' Aramis replied, eyes still forward as the King bellowed for things to hurry up. He chanced a look to his left, eyes widening as Athos squirmed a little. 'Whatever's the matter?' He asked, eyebrows raised.

'Don't know.' Athos muttered, beads of sweat trickling down his head. 'Insects or something. In my coat.'

'And?'

'And they bloody itch!' He shot back, rolling his eyes.

'And you want me to do...what about it?'

'Just-' Athos stopped and took a breath, the sun in his eyes as he peered up at the long path that the dignitary would soon (hopefully) be walking down. Nothing yet, and he knew he couldn't go anywhere to relieve his discomfort. 'Listen, I need you to be sensible about this...' He muttered ,looking up at Aramis once more.

'You know me and 'sensible' don't really go together?' Aramis chuckled under his breath, standing on the balls of his feet for a few seconds to get some feeling back into them.

'I'm well aware, but the situation calls for it.' Athos whispered, the itching ratcheting up a notch as his back erupted with small flashes of pain. 'I can't go anywhere to itch, and it's really really itching...' He started, before involuntary squirming as his back flared once more. 'Just itch my back.'

'What?' Aramis asked, not entirely sure he had heard correctly. 'What did you say?'

'You bloody well know exactly what I said!' Athos muttered, before the both of them caught Treville's eye as he stood in the crowds- the two of them relaxed the expressions on their faces, making them into small smiles of confidence...Treville nodded back, before he shook his head a little as he carried on his meander of the crowds.

As soon as the Captain's eyes were no longer on them, Athos looked back up at Aramis. 'I wouldn't ask you if it wasn't important!' He growled, voice now hitching slightly as the itches got worse. 'Please!'

'If you insist...' Aramis chuckled, surreptitiously moving his arm so his hand was at Athos' back. 'Where?' He asked, eyebrow quirked at the situation.

'Centre left...' Athos directed, and as Aramis gently scratched the leather coat he groaned under his breath as he realised he wasn't making a dent. 'Harder!' He growled, feeling heat creep into his face. 'Harder! There, there that's it...'

'This is almost like a repeat, word for word performance of last night...' Aramis whispered, holding back a chuckle as Athos glared at him. 'Shut up!' He growled, moving his shoulder again.

There. Another flash of pain and the inevitable itch- 'quick, again!' He muttered, trying to make his face look as still as possible as Aramis helpfully relieved his itching.

'No, no you're not doing it hard enough, just-' his voice cut off as Aramis stepped a bit closer and hooked his whole hand under his coat, fingernails dragging on his bare back.

'What?' Aramis asked, enjoying the uncomfortable look on his friend's face.

'Get your hand out from under my coat.'

'You wanted the itching gone, didn't you?'

'Not like this, let go-' his voice was cut off as the King bellowed loudly that he and the Queen had run out of wine. Treville's eyes swivelled around to the group of musketeers as Louis looked over at them too- Aramis quickly pulled his hand from under Athos' coat and stood to attention, as did Athos (despite the itching). 'You there!' He called to them, hand flicking over. 'Short one, messy hair- Athos, isn't it?'

'Your Majesty.' Athos said loudly across the path, nodding his head.

'Fetch some more wine. I seem to have lost my servant.'

Athos couldn't believe his luck, and made a mental note to personally thank the servant as he nodded and turned to walk to the drinking tent. He darted around the back of it and, making sure no one was looking, quickly took off his cloak and coat, and even his undershirt, before closing his eyes with delight as he itched his back and sides to his heart's content. Bliss.

He scrabbled around in his coat and flicked off a small cluster of insects that were gathered- most were now squashed thanks to Aramis' forceful scratching, but for that he was glad.

He quickly donned his attire once more and moved off to the entrance of the drinking tent, where he collected two more large jugs of wine.

The King accepted it gracefully, as usual, and Anne nodded her thanks- Athos was just pleased he had been given a chance to ease his itch.

He fell back into place beside Aramis, who gave a small smile as he stood to attention without obvious discomfort. 'Better?'

'You have no idea...' Athos said with a relieved smile, before everyone suddenly hushed and looked round, heralding the arrival of the dignitary.


	10. J is for Jump

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> J is for Jump

'This was your stupid idea.'

'I don't believe I forced your arm... You could have refused to come along!

'And let you do this alone?'

'The Captain insisted we find out by any means necessary!'

'Yes but that doesn't mean climb into the Red Guard's rooms and sift through the cardinal's private papers, Aramis!' Athos hissed, rolling his eyes. He and Aramis were stood in the fading darkness in the accounts room of the Red Guard's garrison- he had watched the orange sun disappear behind a blank of clouds some minutes ago whilst Aramis was sorting through papers.

Treville had been suspicious of the increasingly finer garb that the Cardinal's men were dressing in the past few days, and was convinced that the man in question was pilfering money from the loans and funds given to both them and the Musketeer regiment just for his men. Of course, he couldn't prove it- and that's where Aramis and Athos came in.

And so they were now standing in the accounts room of the Guards, with Athos keeping watch while Aramis peered through recent accounts, scanning the papers for damning evidence.

'The Cardinal isn't a stupid man- he won't have written it down!' Athos hissed after a while, as Aramis sighed and began a new pile.

'The Captain just wants us to see what's what...' His friend whispered back, but even he had to admit that there didn't seem to be anything fishy going on. 'Maybe the Red Guards merely decided to wash their clothes?' He mused as he stood back, rolling his aching neck. 'That would explain why their clothes look new.'

'Perhaps.' Athos muttered, voice low. 'Come on, let's g-' his voice was cut off as they both heard footsteps coming up the stairs. 'Perfect...' He growled, walking into the middle of the room and giving Aramis a look. 'This is your fault.'

'Me?' Aramis replied as he hastily put the papers in order and put them back in the drawers he hoped they belonged, shaking his head ruefully as they backed themselves into a corner, looking for a good hiding spot. 'You can't blame this on me!'

'I can and I will!' Athos hissed, before he flung an arm across Aramis' chest to tell him to get down.

The door opened slowly, creaking with age- two Red Guards, obviously on duty that night, stepped into the room, looking round.

'I'm sure I heard sumfing!' One said, looking round with a hand on his blade.

'I told you it was your imagination!' The other berated, his heavy boot falls setting Athos on edge as he and Aramis watched them take in the room.

'No, no I heard footsteps- and talking!'

'Rubbish.'

'No, I did!' The man suddenly took in a sharp breath. 'It could be a ghost!' He whispered. Aramis withheld a snort.

'Really? A ghost?' His partner repeated, and Athos could hear the disdain in a voice. 'You've been drinking too much ale!'

'No, it could haunted! This is an old building...could be a lost soul, wandering here for evermore-'

'Well if it is a ghost, could it kindly shut up and leave us to do our jobs!' The man growled and the two of them stood in silence for a while...Aramis wondered whether they were giving time for the 'ghost' to answer them.

'There. Now come on, let's go back down- it's freezing up here!' The man muttered, before his footsteps moved back out of the room,leaving the other man stood alone; Aramis could see his legs from the spot where he was crouched in the shadows.

The man peered around, eyes roving the dark corners of the room. Perhaps it was a ghost- perhaps it was trying to communicate with the living to relay an ancient message? He was just about to open his mouth to ask a question when there was a noise that chilled him to the very bone...

'Ooooooh...'

The man stood stock still as the noise echoed a little, his face set in a scared expression as he backed away. 'H-hello?' He asked, voice high pitched.

'Get...out...now...'

The man nodded dopily into the darkness of the room, his back hitting the doorframe as he shuddered. 'Who is this?' He asked, eyes wide. 'Do you have a message before I go?'

'Yes...' The voice breathed, filled with malice. 'Your shirt...is disgusting...get rid of them...' The man nodded at that, eyes wide. 'I will! Don't hurt me!' He begged, before turning and rushing from the room.

As the noise of the guard's footfalls lessened, the noise of Aramis' chuckling and muffled laughing got louder. 'What a stupid man!' He grinned, before looking across at Athos. 'What?' He muttered as they stood, noting his glare. 'Come on, it was funny!'

'If you get us killed over a fake ghost-' Athos growled, rolling his eyes again. 'Lets get out of here.'

They carefully walked into the middle of the room, trying to work out the best way to escape without being noticed- 'we're not far from the ground, we could jump?' Aramis muttered, noting a large hay bale right underneath the window.

'Let's try something that won't result in one or the both of us breaking our necks, shall we?' Athos replied in a hurried whisper, before going to the door and peering into the darkness.

'It looks clear...' He muttered, before he cursed as two shadows once again appeared on the wall as they came back up the stairs again. 'No, not clear...' He confirmed a second later, stepping back into the room- he quirked an eyebrow as Aramis held up a large sheet that had been placed over an old desk.

'If you're going to suggest what I think you're going to suggest-' he whispered, but Aramis cut him off.

'Trust me!' Aramis smiled, before giving him a wink.

Athos rolled his eyes, realising he was out of options when he heard the voices of the guards coming up the corridor in the direction of the room. He ducked under the sheet-making sure their legs and feet were properly covered- just as the two guards came back into the room.

'I heard it! I did!'

'You're imagining things!'

'I'm not! I promise I'm not!

The other man sighed heavily, beating his foot on the wooden surface impatiently. 'Come on then, let's go and search out this "ghost" shall we?' He growled, and the two of them began a search of the room.

Athos shuffled backwards a little as the men began to snoop around- he squinted through the white material of the sheet and saw that the window only consisted of wooden slats; perfect.

Hoping that Aramis was right when he had said they weren't that far from the ground, he nudged him in the side and nodded that they should get out of here- Aramis nodded, a smile playing on his lips despite the danger (not to mention the huge level of trouble that they'd be in should the guards catch them). They slowly walked around to the window as the men searched the other side of the room- suddenly the man Aramis had aggravated before suddenly let out a small alarmed shriek, and Athos could see him waving his arms to get the attention of his partner.

'THERE! THERE IT IS!' He yelped as the other man wheeled around. 'I TOLD YOU!'

They began running for the window at this stage, just as the two of them barrelled after them...Aramis closed his eyes at the impact of the wood, and the two of them clutched each other's shoulders to ensure safety and an easy landing.

The hay broke their fall quite well, but Athos let out a groan as his leg missed the hay entirely- Aramis scrambled up as they heard the men shout from above.

'You alright?' He whispered as they moved to the side, out of the eyeline of the guards.

'I'll be fine...' Athos winced, face locked in a grimace- he could almost feel the bruise blooming; he moved it around a little, relieved when he could move it easily and without excruciating pain. Not broken then.

'Come on, let's get out of here...' Aramis said, taking hold of Athos' arm and flinging it over his shoulder and helping his friend hobble along the road, hoping that the guards wouldn't catch up soon.

As they hurried along Aramis tore the white sheet off their shoulders as it dragged along the road- with a grin and a smug chuckle, he balled it up and dumped it over a low wall on their way back to the garrison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I have now been posting these chapters near-on every day for the past 10..updates will be a tad slower from here on in, owing to the fact I need to concentrate a bit more on my uni work ^^ This is much more fun though...
> 
> Don't worry, updates WILL be coming soon, just not every day :) probably every 1 or 2 ^^
> 
> Please comment!


	11. K is for Knife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> K is for Knife....

The four men ambled down the road towards the tavern after a hard day's work; tired, aching but ready to drink- Aramis was the first to push open the door, inhaling deeply as the familiar smell wafted over them; heat, alcohol and smoke. 'My round first lads, what is everyone having?' He asked lightly, turning back to the others.

'The usual.' Porthos shot back, grinning, before leading the other two in search of a table. Wine it was then.

Aramis smiled across at the barmaid as she walked towards him from the other side of the bar, her hair wild and a sheen of sweat on her face. He looked back behind her to a small group of men that were considerably worse for wear.

'Sailors?' He asked lightly, noting their worn uniforms and faded insignia. The barmaid nodded as she collected some glasses, pushing a strand of raven hair behind one ear as Aramis asked for wine. 'Just come from Spain this morning, rowdy bunch.' She said, half smiling- Aramis was sure she was used to dealing with men like them.

He wrinkled his nose at her as they cat called her back, waving empty glasses and whistling like she was a dog off the street. 'Thats nice.' He commented, pulling the glasses towards him as the barmaid filled a large jug with wine.

'Nothing I can't handle, Aramis.' She smiled, putting a hand on his as she began serving another man beside him. 'Thanks for the concern though.'

'My pleasure,' Aramis nodded, before stepping back to deliver the glasses before getting the wine. 'We're just over there.' He added, nodding to the sea of blue cloaks that he and the others were wearing.

The barmaid nodded in thanks, before rolling her eyes and finally giving in to the demands of the rowdy Spanish men at the other end of the bar.

Aramis sighed a little but let it happen- it was surprising what the barmaids in this city could put up with... 'Here we are...' He smiled as he finally got to the table with the glasses. 'Give me two seconds and I'll just-' his voice was smothered by the noise of drunken whooping and jeering. They all looked back as the men cheered, pointing to an unfortunate man who had dropped an empty glass onto the wooden floor.

'...get the wine.' He added, giving Athos a look- they exchanged a glance before he returned to the bar, grasping the jug of wine as he looked across at the bunch of sailors. The barmaid had run around the bar with a cloth to scoop up the glass, and the men had obviously taken the time to 'admire' her posterior as she bent down.

He quirked an eyebrow, trying to work out whether to help or not- from his experience of women, they didn't like being the centre of attention that made them feel small. By the looks of the barmaid, she was able to handle this- she gave them curt looks as she stood up, raising her eyebrows as she walked back to the bar, ignoring the jeers.

'What lovely people.' He commented drily as she passed.

She shrugged at that, putting the cloth away. 'They're the same wherever they come from.'

'Ah, but not me?' He replied, grinning as she gave him a smirk.

'No, Aramis, not you.' She smiled a genuine smile across at him- ah, how many times had he woken to that smile?

'Remember I'm just over there.' He smiled, before picking up the jug.

'Ah, my knight in shining armour, eh?' She grinned, before another punter caught her eye. 'I think I'll be ok.' She added, already taking another order.

Aramis grinned to himself as he walked back over to the others. He placed the jug down at sat next to d'Artagnan with a flourish, whilst Athos was already busy pouring the wine into the glasses.

'Rowdy bunch.' D'Artagnan muttered, cocking an eyebrow in their direction.

'Ah they're just having fun,' Aramis muttered as he took a slow swallow of his wine, 'probably been at sea for the past six months.' They all nodded in agreement and sat back, drinking heartily and joking merrily for a while as they rested their aching muscles from the day's events.

A few minutes later and the door crashed open- Athos looked round as the bar fell silent; all eyes were on the newcomers. 'Didn't think they were still around.' Muttered Porthos as he downed his drink and poured himself another.

'Who are they?' Asked d'Artagnan as he noted the expressions on his friend's faces; Porthos looked suspiciously as them as they sauntered to the bar; Athos looked on darkly before his eyes were drawn to his wine once more, and Aramis was looking at them with delight in his eyes, looking almost awestruck.

'Just a gang of sailors that trawl these bars.' Porthos muttered in answer, shrugging as he sat back down. 'Nothing special.'

'Nothing special?' Echoed Aramis, who turned to him with a quirked eyebrow. 'These guys are the envy of most men- they're just...I don't know...' He trailed off, shrugging himself. 'I've looked up to them for a while.'

'Really?' Athos muttered, eyebrow quirked. 'They kill people for money.'

'So do we?' D'Artagnan shot back, earning a snort and appreciative glance from Aramis.

'They look cool while they do it.' He returned with a finality about it, and he drank his wine in silence as Athos scoffed a little and did the same.

The arrival of this new gang seemed to only exacerbate the emotions of the already drunken Spanish sailors. They nudged each other and muttered darkly from behind the collars of their coats, eyes roving the new group as they clamoured to the bar. The barmaid smiled broadly at them- Athos mused that they'd been in here before.

The next few minutes passed in loudness but a relative calm- the men stayed their separate sides of the bar and the barmaid flitted between them, filling their tankards and cleaning down the wooden surface.

After an hour or so Aramis was starting to feel the doubled effects of alcohol and a hard day's work- he downed the rest of his wine and looked at his comrades, who were also beginning to wilt with tiredness.

'One more for the road?' He asked the group at large, smiling as Athos nodded, wiping red liquid from the corners of his mouth.

'I'll come up too.' He muttered, standing up and wiping a hand down his face. 'You just can't control these people, can you?' He added, shooting a teasing glance to d'Artagnan and Porthos, both of whom were still nursing half a glass each.

'Terrible...' Aramis grinned, before he and Athos made their way slowly to the busy bar, filled with people clamouring for the attention of the sole barmaid.

'Where's Juliet?' Aramis called to her as he and Athos finally fought their way through.

'Sick.' Came the reply as the barmaid pushed damp her away from her eyes. 'I've done this shift before.'

'Oh I bet!' Aramis smiled, casting her an admiring glance. A man stood beside him elbowed him in the sides as he fought to get into a better position. 'Careful, my friend,' he muttered as the man glowered up at him. 'Closing times not for a little while yet!'

The man regarded him with taut disdain, lifting his chin and pointedly ignoring the both of them as he whistled at the barmaid.

Aramis felt irritation rising- she wasn't a dog. He withheld a snappy remark as the barmaid gave him a short shake of the head as she arrived, a plastic smile now on her lips.

He sighed, something that Athos could hear even above the din of the bar. 'We could go somewhere else?' He muttered as the barmaid served the ansty reveller.

'No, we can stay here- I want to make sure no one oversteps the mark.' He replied as he watched men cackle and call for the barmaid's attention. 'Why can't they just be patient?'

'Thats sailors for you.' Athos returned as the barmaid finally came to take their order. 'Everything fine, Miss?'

'Perfectly fine, thank you.' She replied, shooting them both an appreciative smile. 'Two ships arrived an hour ago, from what I've heard- these men are here for one night apparently.'

'Good.' Aramis muttered darkly, before smiling across at the barmaid as she gave him a soft smile. 'What? I'm worried about you.'

'You really have no need to be,' she replied, teasingly rolling her eyes, 'I can fight my own battles as you well know.' She added, putting a hand on his and squeezing, letting it linger there for a few seconds. This was all it took to get the man who had elbowed Aramis riled up.

'You're with a bloody musketeer?' He growled, his drunken, loud voice carrying well even in the crowded bar area.

The room fell silent- each man looked across at the barmaid, at the way her hair flowed down her back, perfectly complimenting her blue eyes, and the delicate curve of her bottom in her dress. They couldn't have her going out with a dirty, dirt-scuffed musketeer.

'You can do so much better, love.' The man added, a yellow smile spreading on his features.

'No, I'm not with him.' The barmaid muttered, taking her hand off and taking a step back. 'I'm not with anyone.'

'Shame.' A man on the other side of the bar added, eyebrows raised in suggestion. 'I can bet one of us will show you what it means to be with a real man!'

'I don't date my customers.' She replied stoically, wiping a hand down her dress and pointedly ignoring Aramis' eye. 'Especially sailors.' She added in a whisper as she turned to continue her job,

'And why ever not?' One of said sailors growled, leaning over the small bar and grasping her arm, meaning to turn her back. Aramis' eyes widened as she struggled, eyes wide with a small amount of fear as the men started to jeer and growl.

'Hey!' He cried, bodily jumping over the bar and coming to a stop near the two of them- he pulled the man's arm off hers, noting with distaste and anger the red finger marks on her pale skin. 'I think you've had enough!'

'Back off, musketeer!' The man spat, hauling his arm away with anger in his drunken eyes. 'Get back to your King you jumped up fool!'

'Jumped up fool?' Aramis echoed, turning to Athos, who had also vaulted the bar and was stood beside them, 'that's the best he can do?'

'Well I don't know, 'Mis...' Athos replied, eyes roving the group of men in front of them as the atmosphere turned electric with drunken anger, '...I'd hate to be called a jumped up fool!'

'True, it did sting a bit.' Aramis acknowledged, before turning back to the man in question.

'She doesn't want it mate, leave it.' He said, voice dark.

'She'll come over to the idea, won't you sweetheart?' He smiled, making to grab her arm again- Aramis stepped in with a growl, getting bodily between the smaller woman and the sailor. 'She said no!' He repeated, a hand to his chest- he pushed as the man leaned in forcefully, arms outstretched.

He tipsily staggered back, and did exactly what Aramis was silently praying he wouldn't do. He fell to the floor with a groan, taking a line of glasses with him as he flailed at the bar to keep his balance.

'Bugger.' He muttered as the men looked up at him, suddenly bereft of the prospect of a stand-off and their drinks.

'It had to be you, didn't it?' Athos returned with a growl as the men started clamouring forward. 'If everyone could just calm down!' He shouted above the sudden raucous din. 'I will pay for an extra drink for all of you, courtesy of the musketeer regiment!' He sighed and looked over to d'Artagnan and Porthos as the men ignored his offer. The two men nodded back and began to make their way to the bar.

'I thought the prospect of free drinks would clinch it...' He muttered sarcastically to Aramis, who he saw was making sure the barmaid was ok.

'The tavern masters going to kill me!' She whispered as she rubbed her arm- Athos grabbed Aramis as the men started climbing over the bar, growling like animals.

'Its alright- just go inside and tell him what's happened!' Aramis instructed as she opened the small door to the parlour and shut it behind her. 'Now, where were we?' He muttered, before staggering back as a fist connected with his jaw.

'Oh yes, I remember.' He growled, before returning the favour.

Athos also growled in his throat as a man grabbed the front of his jacket and propelled him forwards into the bar- he twisted at the last minute, grabbing the hand and twisting it to make him drop to the ground. He punched the side of his head and he fell back, unconscious.

'Look what you've done!' He shouted across to Aramis as he battled two burly men with tattooed knuckles. 'Treville will have our hides!'

'It wasn't me!'' Aramis shot back, yelping as a fist connected with his cheek.

'Well it bloody well wasn't me!' Athos growled, turning to a man who now wielded a chair- he ducked the wood that the man held as if it were paper, and dived to the side as it was thrown at his head. As he recovered he heard a gargled yelp and saw Porthos kick him away like a rock. He nodded his thanks, pulling himself up ready for the next tourney. A blinding, sickening pain suddenly caught him in the shoulder, drawing all the breath from him in it's agony.

He faltered on suddenly weak legs, his hands going to the source of the pain- his eyes widened as his fingers latched onto steel. A knife.

He turned around, pain trickling alarmingly across his shoulder as he did so- he saw the bar brawl-if it ever could be called that- was almost over; men were picking themselves up and heading for the door, and the ones who were still on the ground didn't stir.

He sucked in a breath as d'Artagnan came to his side- the younger man's eyes widened as the colour drained from his mentor's face. 'Aramis!' He called, looking over to the man as he saw off one of the last few men- he turned, and Porthos saw he had a bloody nose and a bruise blooming on his cheek.

His eyes turned from showing victory to concern as they fell on Athos. 'What happened?' He asked as he quickly made his way to their sides- he didn't need to ask again as he took in the injury.

'Just get it...out.' Athos hissed, bloody hands ready to take it off himself- Aramis shushed him and shook his head, grasping his hands and pulling them down. 'If you do that it'll bleed more,' he explained, knowing the horrible effects of blood loss from his time in battle. 'I need to clean it and then I can see what needs to be done.'

Athos groaned and leaned back on an upturned table, eyes shut as Aramis carefully took the blade and moved it a little to see how much damage had been done. 'Seems to be a small blade.' He mused to himself, thankful it wasn't a dirk or even a dagger. 'More like a letter opener, really.' He added, earning a small scoff from Porthos.

'So, you're telling me...' Athos muttered, eyes screwed shut in pain, 'that it's not even worth a good story?'

'Sorry, mon ami.'

'Typical...' He replied, a smile tugging at his lips. 'Lets just get it over with.'

'Right- d'Artagnan, alcohol. Spirits will be better; whiskey, vodka, rum.' He instructed before turning to Porthos. 'My medical kit is in my coat, and we'll need bandages.' He turned back to Athos as the two men nodded and went to get the equipment.

'Stiches?' Athos grunted as he moved; the blade seemed to bite even more.

'I'm afraid so.' Aramis muttered, sitting back on his haunches. 'Only a couple though.'

Athos nodded and sat back, feeling his legs begin to shake. 'Could do with a drink.'

Aramis nodded and went to collect the glass- he chose brandy as it was always something his mother used to swear by when someone had a bad experience. 'Here we are..' He muttered, pouring it into a glass and handing it to him

. Athos took a gulp, his eyes bulging wide as he swallowed the fiery liquid. He nodded thankfully as his tongue got used to it, and he handed the glass back to his friend, a smile on his lips despite the pain. 'Cheers.' He muttered. He soon sat back, however, as the other two returned to them.

Aramis ripped open the rest of Athos' shirt and immediately poured a bottle of spirit onto it, trying his best to ignore the protesting hisses and curses of the man below him. 'All done!' He smiled as the blood ran down his chest, mingling with the alcohol. 'That wasn't so bad, was it?' The curse he got back made him laugh out loud.

'Right, I've got to take the blade out now...' He muttered, turning serious. 'Ready?'

'Just do it.'

'Here we go...' Aramis gently but firmly took hold of the blade and pulled cleanly upwards, wincing himself as Athos jerked out a breath and moaned out a protest. 'Almost there.' He added, before bringing the tip upwards and away, putting it on the wooden floor of the tavern before shoving a clean bandage into the wound. Athos groaned at the pressure, but he knew it had to be done.

'Have I ever told you...how glad I am that you're a medic?' He said instead as Aramis took hold his hand and placed it on top of his wound.

'Ah Athos don't, you'll make my head swell!' Aramis grinned, before giving a small bow as Athos arched an eyebrow. 'I am to please.' He added, before gathering up the other bandages.

'Come on, let's get you up and to a matron who knows what she's doing-' he muttered as he and d'Artagnan supported Athos. 'I don't expect I should be the one to stitch it up...' He added; his head swam with the effects of the wine. 'I fear I have lots of apologies to make for this.' He added sorrowfully as they took in the bar. It wasn't as bad as it could have been, he mused as he saw only a couple of broken tables. Treville would probably have him on stable and boot cleaning duties for the next month, but he was glad the barmaid didn't come to harm.

He wondered whether to leave her a note, but thought that a face to face apology would probably serve him better.

'Come on,' he muttered, putting a supporting arm around Athos as he led them onto the streets, in the direction of the nearest hospital. 'Let's go get you seen to properly.'


	12. L is for Laceration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> L is for Laceration.....

Porthos was having a bad morning, and now he'd never forgive himself for what happened. He'd woken in a stinking mood thanks to a horrible concoction of spirits and wine; he had been out celebrating the birthday of someone he'd known from the Court, someone he'd been friends with for years.

The night had started good enough, but as per what usually happened when the Court celebrated an occasion such as this it ended in the usual brawls and bloodshed. Thankfully he'd managed to get away before the knives came out, and he'd found himself a nice little hole to sleep off the mother of a hangover that was already settling behind his eyes.

He woke, dazed and confused as to where he was- a quick check to his side to ensure he hadn't been sleeping next to a corpse lessened his worry a little, but as he staggered upright and massaged an aching head he thought it was only a small mercy.

He squeezed his eyes shut and groaned as he manoeuvred his way back through the surprisingly empty streets of Paris. He probably had had to have been at the yard an hour ago, he mused as he slowly made his way to his rooms. A quick wash and change and he'd be ready for the day...

Who was he kidding? He thought to himself as he opened the door and did no more than keel onto his mattress, eyes falling shut as the morning sun started to filter through onto the whitewashed walls.

It was Aramis, as usual, who awakened him from his slumber. The younger man had not seen him for training that morning and was worried, so he had come up to see if he was ok- he grinned to himself as he saw his friend lying fully clothed on his sheets, snoring like a horn beckoning passing ships into a harbour.

'Everything ok?' He said loudly as he walked in through the door, shaking his head ruefully. No answer.

Porthos was in a state of awakened slumber, however, and could vaguely hear everything-he withheld a groan...it was probably a messenger, asking why he wasn't in training. He ignored it, snoring a little louder to let him know he wasn't interested; he'd go away soon and leave him in peace.

Aramis, however, wasn't about to let his friend get away with it just because he was asleep- he crept into the room some more, throwing open the curtains and turning back, eyes wide with humour. He loved winding up his friend when he was drunk- Porthos was like a coiled spring, unpredictable...sometimes he'd be as soft and pleasant as a swan; pliant and conversational. Other times he was like a snake, ready to bite and snap at anyone; Aramis quite enjoyed finding out which one he was going to find in the morning. It was like a hobby.

'I said-' he called louder, now pushing his shoulder forcefully with a small chuckle '-everything ok?!' The grin was replaced by a look of concern and a split second of worry as a large fist came out of nowhere. He fell onto his backside with a small yelp as it connected to his face, hard.

Porthos was awake in an instant, a hand flailing to his mouth as he opened bleary eyes and realised who it was that he had hit. 'Oh my- I didn't mean to! Aramis, oh god...' He gabbled, heat in his face as he drew himself upright.

'It's alright, my friend...' Aramis said, his voice muffled as he held a hand to his eye; he felt stickiness there, and pain was blossoming. 'Shouldn't have poked the bear, as it were...'

'I can't believe I- Aramis I'm so-' he sat up straighter now, ignoring his pulsating head. 'I've drunk so much I-'

'Porthos, calm yourself!' Aramis now chuckled, wincing as it moved his eye. He felt warm blood trickling down his cheek,coupled with a now intense pain . 'If you've given me a black eye I'm going to be mad though, alright?' He quipped, but he could tell from the feel of it that it was going to be a little worse than that.

'Let me look, oh god...' Porthos still mumbled, completely flabbergasted at what he'd done. 'Let me get some water...'

'I'm perfectly fine, just don't fall over or we'll both be in trouble, won't we?' Aramis smiled, although he was starting to feel a little unsteady. 'Came to find you after you missed training...' He said as Porthos staggered about looking for clean cloths and fresh water. 'Seems like you had a good night?'

'Ended in a fight.'

'As most Court gatherings usually do?'

'Well, yeah...' Porthos admitted, too highly wound now to chuckle at his friend's attempt at humour. 'Didnt think I'd be fighting you.'

'I awoke a sleeping, drink-filled man with strength like an Ox by pushing his shoulder and shouting in his face- I believe the fault is mine.'

'But Aramis, you-'

'Porthos, please. I forgive you.' Aramis chuckled thickly as he wiped blood from his cheek. He winced as he felt a horrible pulling sensation on his eye socket. 'But I don't suppose you could hurry with the water?' He muttered, pulling a face.

'Yeah, yeah it's here...' Porthos muttered, bringing it over. 'Let me have a look-' he moved Aramis' hand from the wound, and even he could feel himself paling at the sight. 'Oh...Aramis I am so-'

'How bad?'

'Its...oh my-' Porthos shook his head, his eyes wide. 'I never meant to-'

'How bad?' Aramis said shortly, as he was devoid of a mirror or anything to see how bad it was. 'Stitches bad?'

Porthos nodded mutely, before leaning in closer. He had cut the skin around his friend's eye open with the force of his punch- the skin was torn into a small gash, with blood dribbling down onto his white face. 'I-I'm really sorry.' He said dumbly, shaking his head again, guilt washing over him like a tidal wave of sickness.

'My friend there is nothing to forgive, and if you apologise one more time I will punch you in the head as well, got it?' Aramis replied, winking at Porthos with his good eye. 'It is my fault entirely, so stop going on.'

'I should never have lashed out though, I-'

'I could have been an intruder!' Aramis chuckled, wincing again. 'Look, if you really want to make amends, I'm sure I have some chores that need doing if you'd like?' He laughed out loud at the look Porthos gave him and nodded, grinning. 'Stop apologising then.'

They both turned to the door as they heard two pairs of boots enter the room. 'We were just wondering where you'd-what the hell happened here?' Athos muttered, eyes wide as he took in the scene. 'Aramis?'

Porthos swallowed, his last few drinks swirling sickeningly in his stomach as he turned to Aramis; the man gave him a smile. 'I tripped as I went to awaken Porthos.' He said loudly, wincing suddenly as he sought to stand- Athos took one arm whilst Porthos grabbed the other.

'Hit my head on the side of his bedstead, the damned thing!' He continued, hand tightening on Porthos' arm as he was supported to walk forwards- he knew his friend didn't need the lecture about drinking from Athos; besides, he thought it'd be a tad hypocritical of him if he did...he didn't want to take that chance, anyway. Porthos was shaking beside him, and he knew he was horrified at what he'd done- that was punishment enough, he thought a little sadly. He hadn't meant to after all.

'It's only a small cut by the looks of it...' Athos was saying, before rolling his eyes. 'Honestly, I can't leave either of you alone, can I?' He added, giving a rueful look to Porthos. The bigger man gave him a small smile, still feeling sick beyond measure.

'Let's get you to the matron.' Athos muttered as they got to the door, looking over to d'Artagnan who was stood by the door.

'Good idea.' Aramis agreed, wincing some more. He made a note to himself as he was led along the corridor- never poke a sleeping Porthos, no matter how funny you think the reaction would be.


	13. M is for Mourning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was the result of a prompt from someone else- warnings for major character death and angst. Lots of angst.  
> M is for Mourning.....

It should have been so simple, so easy. But luck was never a strong influence in the lives of the Musketeers.

It was Sunday, so most of the day was spent in prayer, whether in the chapels dotted around the palace or within the numerous churches of the city. Louis had wanted to go out this day, instead of being "cooped up like an animal being bashed over the head with a bible" as he liked to put it. The Cardinal (who normally served to recite the prayers to the royal couple in the relative safety of the palace walls) was loathe to allow the two of them out.

Anne, at least, seemed to have some brains and wits about her, he thought, for she politely refused her husband's offer to accompany him in going to a nearby church. She had reading to do afterwards, and was hosting a small afternoon lunch party for some other courtesans soon after prayers. Louis was to come as well, but he was aloof and childish this morning, and she thought he'd better have his way.

Treville had been told to gather his best for the small excursion, more for show than anything else, he'd been told- and so it was that d'Artagnan, Athos, Porthos and Aramis were stood beside the King as he made the surprisingly short journey to a small church just before the main city.

Word goes round fast in the Parisian streets, Aramis mused as he saw waves of people suddenly surge forwards after getting a glimpse of their King.

'Make way for the king!' Athos shouted, an arm out the shield the royal as he tottered into the church; he waved a handkerchief into the air as thanks, a big toothy smile strapped onto his face as he ducked into the coolness and shade of the holy building.

The prayers were long and the musings longer, as usual- Porthos was trying not to fall asleep as everyone else had their heads bent in silent prayers. Aramis had his eyes closed too, with his head bent low to the floor, but Porthos could see by the small movements in his lips that he was reciting a prayer under his breath. He wondered who it was about.

Soon enough it was over, and after the King had made a sizeable donation to the church that had housed him that morning- an effort somewhat forced on him by the cardinal, who deemed it wise that the king started forging better relationships between himself and the common man- it was time to take the short stroll to the palace.

The day was calm and sunny, with not a cloud in sight over the blue sky- d'Artagnan shielded his eyes from the glare of it, but it seemed to charge the King, who demanded to stop at a nearby patisserie to purchase some buns and treats for the afternoon party with Anne. Athos had been the one to begrudgingly walk over to the awed shopkeeper and order the food, with d'Artagnan taking his place at the king's side.

The King marvelled at some pigeons that had gathered, and d'Artagnan rolled his eyes as the King ordered someone to catch them- no one made a move to placate this offer, however. Louis huffed and crossed his arms, before stepping back to mutter in the cardinal's ear- a sudden scream and jostled yell from the still sizeable crowds around them suddenly sounded, with people scattering in every direction as a man pushed his way to the front.

D'Artagnan stood in front of the King, his hand going to his blade- but it was too late. A musket blast sent people running, and as the smoke cleared around the small cobbled square another musket blast followed- Aramis glared at the man as he fell to the floor, his deadly precision hitting his mark once again. He looked across at the king, relief flooding as he saw he was merely shaken and not hit- the bottom fell out of his stomach as he saw the man who put himself in front of him.

It was as if the young man in front of him had regressed into a small child- he was stood, face suddenly ashen as he put a hand to his chest.

'D'artagnan?' Aramis breathed, rushing to his side as the king staggered back, clutching at the cardinal's sleeve for support as everyone looked on. D'Artagnan removed his hand with a hiss of pain, eyes widening as he saw crimson. He looked up at Aramis, who had come to his side. He looked confused at the sight; it broke the musketeer's heart.

'D'artagnan, let me see...d'artagnan!' His voice hitched as the young man's legs finally gave way. 'No no no, no come on...come on boy...' He groaned as he held the young man in his arms, carefully lowering him to the ground. 'This isn't your time, no...' He ripped some cloth from his pocket and pressed it to the wound, wincing himself as d'Artagnan cried out- he could feel the ball of the musket as he pressed in, deep in his chest cavity. Too far in.

'D'artagnan?' Athos' voice was clipped, disbelieving. 'D'artagnan!' Aramis suppressed a small cry of anguish himself as Athos dropped to his knees beside them.

'Let me see-' his friend cried, carefully moving the shaky hand that was pressed to his chest. 'Oh Christ...' He whispered, closing his eyes. 'Aramis do something!' He cried, desperation erupting.

'Athos there is nothing-'

'We can't let him die!'

'Athos-' they both looked down as d'Artagnan gave a small,watery cough. The young man was pale as snow, his eyes red rimmed. 'The...King?' He gargled, and Aramis blanched as he saw a bubble of blood erupt and flow down the young man's chin.

'Safe,' he whispered, calmingly putting a hand on his arm, 'you did your duty.' The blood heralded something that couldn't be cured by stitches, bandages and soothing words. He knew that. They all did. He felt a presence behind him- Porthos put a hand on his shaking shoulder, his fingers digging into his coat as he fought to keep his composure too.

'I d-don't want to...g-go...' D'Artagnan cried out, before wincing as pain shot through him. 'N-not yet...'

'You're not going anywhere!' Athos growled, taking hold of one of his white hands and squeezing it. 'Don't talk of such things!' He heard his voice crack and hitch and cursed himself for it. He had to keep him from knowing the truth, just for a little while longer.

'You're going to be fine.' He added, brushing away a tear from the corner of his eye as d'Artagnan looked up at him with wide eyes, his teeth beginning to chatter as he forced his face into a small smile.

'L-liar...' D'Artagnan groaned out, before his head hit the path and he ground it down to rid himself of some of the pain. 'C-came out of nu-nowhere...' He muttered thickly; more red dribbled down his chin.

'I know lad, I should have been at your side, I should of-'

'Not your fault. You w-were getting the king's t-tarts...' He replied, another small smile on his now quivering lips. Athos nodded, sniffing heavily as he realised the young man's breathing was becoming erratic.

'Is there nothing you can do?' He asked Aramis; his friend's eyes were wet with tears, and more came as he shook his head, bowing his head to the ground. 'Its too far in...' He whispered thickly, shuddering himself. 'I'm sorry, I-' his voice disappeared as well as d'Artagnan moaned low in his throat.

'Its alright lad, it's alright...' Athos muttered as he clutched as hands to him, trying to stop the shakiness.

'A matron is coming.' Porthos said from above them, and Athos suddenly felt a glimmer of hope amongst the crushing darkness that was enveloping them all.

He turned back to d'Artagnan, but that glimmer was soon dashed as he looked upon the young man's face, taut with agony.

'D'artagnan stay with us! You hear, stay with us!' He ordered, but somehow he knew it was too late. They were too late. 'D'artagnan please...' He muttered, voice now hitched without a care.

D'Artagnan breathed out slowly, the breaths jerky as he fought to stay awake. He suddenly looked up and away from his comrades, his brothers, to something none but he could see. 'F-father?' He cried, voice high with pain. 'Father?'

Athos swore and bowed his head, grief now clinging to his throat like fire. Aramis put an arm on his shoulder, biting back sobs of his own as d'Artagnan coughed thickly some more.

They watched as his eyes flickered, like a candle being blown in a breeze. 'D'artagnan stay with us!' Athos whispered now, his stomach like lead as the young man sank back impossibly more to the ground. 'Please, stay with me.' He added. He had lost Thomas, he couldn't lose another man he viewed as a brother too. 'Hold on, help is coming.'

D'Artagnan shuddered weakly, and gave his three brothers a smile an a quirk of his eyebrows that the musketeers had learnt to love. He was still staring up at them when his eyes went dark, seeing no more.

Athos closed his own eyes, tears springing unchecked. Porthos sat heavily beside Aramis and he as people started milling about- they three sat in a shared world of mourning and grief, oblivious to the world around them.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lupiac, Gascony, in the spring was beautiful. Long, wide fields of golden crops as far as the eye could see, coupled with acres of apple orchards and groves. Simple, perfect. Safe.

They stood in a small walled cemetery near his childhood home, quiet and peaceful. It had long been a custom for musketeers to be buried within the palace walls- indeed, the king had been adamant that d'Artagnan be buried with full royal honours. Athos had been the one to remind Treville and the Cardinal of his friend's humble beginnings. He was a farm boy at heart, belonged to his small village- he deserved to be buried near his family.

They has dug the grave next to his parent's- the grass had not yet grown fully above the plot shared by his mother and father. How unfair that their son would meet them so soon.

The holy man had been a family friend and was as shocked as everyone else when he'd heard of his passing- the whole town, young and old, friends and strangers alike had gathered along with them as they said their final farewells. He spoke the prayers with humility, with kindness and with fondness.

The King had come, as had Anne, although they were both now under heavy guard; Aramis mused how decent the King had been- no expense was spared, and for that he was grateful. D'Artagnan, as short a time as he'd spent with the regiment, had been loved beyond words by everyone who knew him in Paris.

Constance had been inconsolable when he had told her that evening- his heart broke as he remembered her husband refusing her plea to join them for the funeral.

He held in his palms a single white flower that Constance had given him- a bloom she had kept from her wedding bouquet, she had told him tearfully. That told him all he ever needed to know.

Soon the prayers were over, the service done, and everyone stood with a murmur and began slowly making their way along the dew-filled grass to the wooden gate that led to the cobbled street.

The three men approached the grave, grief in their hearts as they looked down upon the casket of their dear friend. The grave-diggers were already shovelling mud onto the brown wood, each thump cementing their sorrow.

Aramis recited a prayer of his own, kissing his fingers and chest before raising his eyes to the heavens. He gently let the flower fall from his grip, where it flew in the wind and settled atop the casket before soil buried it.

'He is at peace.' He whispered, biting his top lip to stop himself from falling apart. Athos nodded mutely next to him, his breaths jagged as he too fought to keep his composure.

No words, shared or in private, could tell of their grief. Not truly. They each stood in silence as birds sang in the trees and the sun disappeared behind a bank of clouds.

Treville stood beside them, his heart torn. He hated losing a man, not least one with such promise- he had done his duty for his King, as was expected of all of them. He was proud to have known such a courageous young man. He put a hand on Porthos' shoulder, nodding his head to the street where the royal party were now stood. Time to go.

'Lads.' Porthos whispered, clearing his throat as the other two peered sorrowfully up at him. 'Come on.'

Aramis expected Athos to object, but he saw that the fight had left his friend- Athos nodded slowly, sniffing. He had something in his arms that he'd carried from Paris, something that, in times gone by, had been taken back and given to another as he joined the ranks. Not this time.

He unfolded the blue cloak d'Artagnan had worked so hard for, the cloak that made him stand out, and rightly so- there was no reason he shouldn't still wear it with pride.

The stone had already been erected, so Athos took a step forwards and gently draped it across the grey rock, stepping back and biting back a small sob as they watched it for a while.

'Come on.' He whispered after a while, turning to his brothers, eyes red-rimmed. 'Lets go.'

Aramis nodded sorrowfully as the three of them made their way slowly back to the royal party.

'He really was the best of all of us.' Aramis whispered, meaning every word. 'I was so proud.'

'We all were...' Porthos nodded as they stopped underneath a tree to collect some professional composure.

Athos breathed in deeply, before putting an arm into the small circle between them. Aramis gave a small chuckle and nodded, doing the same, with Porthos following suit. It seemed appropriate.

'One for all?' Aramis whispered, knowing that through this darkness they'd always have each other.

Athos breathed in shakily and nodded, his love for his brothers soothing the desperate ache in his heart. 'And all for d'Artagnan.' He finished. Porthos nodded as they knocked their knuckles together, agreeing with every word.

They smiled at each other before finally taking one more look at the row of grey stone. At their fallen brother. They'd never forget him, Athos promised as they joined the ranks of guards near the King and Queen. He didn't think d'Artagnan would ever forgive them if they did, anyway.


	14. N is for Nettles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> N is for Nettles...

'Athos why are you sitting on your horse like a princess in a fairy tale?' Aramis enquired lightly as he sat astride his own steed as the four of them ambled down the road.

Athos gave him a look, but said nothing; instead he huffed and settled his hands on his lap, arching his legs a little in this most unnatural position. 'You know very well why...' He said after a beat, rolling his eyes. The horse beneath him was not his own, owing to an unlucky copulation of a stony path and a falling tree as they began their journey home. His horse was therefore tethered to d'Artagnan's, due to the fact that the young Gascon liked to ride a little slower than the rest of them, and his horse needed a slow and steady ride back to Paris.

'Is that horse a tad small for you, mon ami?' Aramis teased, grinning across to Porthos.

'More of a pony, surely?' Their friend chuckled as they took in Athos as he sat considerably lower down than they. If he sat normally his boots would be dragging along the ground somewhat- and whilst he wasn't heavy enough to cause the horse any damage, he thought it best if he helped her along and sat in a way where he didn't cause extra weight.

'It is not a pony,' Athos insisted for the tenth time, shaking his head at the malicious insinuation. 'She is merely small for her age.'

'No mate, that's as big as ponies get!'

'She isn't a pony!' Athos growled, embarrassment flaring as he looked down at his horse and patted her mane. 'She's lovely.' He added, chin raised.

'I think someone's in love...' Aramis teased, before shrugging as Athos gave him a look. 'If she gets you home, who are we to judge?'

'Exactly, so be silent.' Athos mock-growled, winking at his friend. They rode in a companionable silence for a short distance, each lost in their own worlds after the day's events.

Evening was settling in fast, and the sky was a lovely darkening purple as they finally got Paris in their sights.

Aramis stretched out on his larger horse, before grinning and looking down at Athos as he trundled along beside- he leaned down and did something he had never done before; he ruffled Athos' hair, laughing out loud as Athos turned a death stare towards him, flattening his hair back down.

'Sorry, I couldn't resist!' He laughed, shrugging. 'You're just so cute sitting atop that pony!'

'It isn't a pony!' Athos exploded, now thoroughly fed-up. He looked across at his own horse and got a pang of longing to ride him- he settled down with another huff, crossing his arms as a chilly wind casted around the small group.

A few minutes later his horse did something his own steed would never of done- she began to wander. She was too inexperienced to be going on such a journey as this, he mused- come to think of it, the man he'd brought her from did seem a little too eager to be rid of her.

'Here, here!' He whispered, flicking the reign a little to get her aligned again between Porthos and Aramis. 'Steady...'

Aramis snorted lightly, patting his horses head with a smug smile. 'I've heard ponies are quite aloof creatures...' He grinned, arching an eyebrow to Athos, who was busy bringing his horse back to line once more.

'She's alright...' He reassured his friend, blowing his fringe away from his eyes.

'What are you gonna do with her when we get back to Paris?' D'Artagnan asked from behind them- they slowed a little to allow him to squeeze into a line- the road was fringed with bushes and braken; Porthos eyed clumps of nettles and thorns with distaste, pointedly steering his horse away and back onto the path a bit more as Athos sighed.

'I don't know,' he admitted. 'Would Constance want it?'

'What would she need a pony- sorry, horse-' he corrected as Athos sent a glare his way. 'What would she want a horse for?' He asked, eyebrow quirked.

'I don't know...' Athos replied, thinking hard. 'How about the school? They could have her as a pet?'

'Good idea.' Aramis nodded, before leaning down to rub the neck of the horse- this startled the poor thing; Athos' eyes widened as she suddenly reared at the unexpected touch. 'Aramis you-' his voice was cut off as his horse started forwards with a snort, kicking her legs out and bucking the him around. He figured that getting off the poor horse and letting her kick about was his best course of action- what he should really have given more thought to was what he'd be landing on when he did scramble off.

The nettles growing in the small ditch at the side of the road did lessen his fall, he had to admit, but as he flumped rather unceremoniously down from the horse he came to the conclusion he'd rather have fallen into fire.

His skin reacted as soon as they touched the blasted green weed, and he scrambled up on his hands and knees to back out of the ditch- a heavy hand grabbed his coat from the neck and pulled him the rest of their way; he nodded to Porthos before squeezing his eyes shut and flinging his arms around to quell the stinging. 'Ow, ow ow...' He couldn't help but throw out- this was always something he hated as a child and young man when his horses weren't better trained.

'Water?' He asked up desperately as Aramis tried not to laugh above him.

'Hang on, let me see...' He muttered, wincing himself as he saw great white lumps appear on Athos' neck and hands. 'Here you are, there's probably not a lot-' his voice died in his throat as Athos all but snatched the leather container of water and poured some on his skin.

The fiery pain was stopped for a few seconds, but it soon came back with a vengeance. 'Argh...this is your fault!' He shot at Aramis, who now snorted, a grin on his face.

'I didn't know she'd buck!' He protested, before getting off his horse and walking towards the horse in question, who had got herself stuck in a nearby bush. 'She's fine!' He called back, gently rubbing her mane and muttering calming words under his breath as he got her out.

'Well at least I didn't injure another one...that'll be two today.' Athos conceded, itching his erupting skin- it seemed to have even gone under his riding leathers a little. He was just digging in with his fingernails, enjoying the small moment of peace it gave him when d'Artagnan slapped his hand from above his own horse, a warning look on his eye.

'Don't itch it.' He ordered, pointing a finger at him. 'Thats the worse thing you can do.'

'And what do you-ow!- suggest?' Athos replied cooly as another wave of stinging began erupting in his hands and neck.

'Uh...' D'Artagnan thought hard- what was it that his Father always used to put on him if he fell into stinging nettles? 'Dock leaves work.'

'Dock leaves?' Athos snorted, 'an old wive's tale.'

'No it isn't, it really works!' D'Artagnan laughed, nodding his head. 'Try it!'

'Or,' Porthos said darkly from his other side as he leaned in, 'we could do the other way?'

'Other way?' Athos replied, racking his brain for another solution- his stomach dropped as he remembered, 'you are not pissing on my hands!' He said, his eyes wide as he carefully stepped back, stumbling into d'Artagnan's horse in his haste- Porthos guffawed out a deep laugh, wiping his face as Athos glowered up at him, shaking his head.

They turned to Aramis as the man began whistling and ducking into the bush Athos had just fallen into- all Athos could see was his backside as it bobbed up and down as he foraged in the greenery.

'Here we are...' He smiled, handing Athos a palmful of large green leaves as he walked back to them. 'Split the leaves a little and rub the veiny part on the bumps.' He instructed. Athos shuddered, dancing on the spot now with the pain of it.

'Are you sure?' He asked, voice hitching and whining as the itching became near on unbearable.

'Positive, it really works!' D'Artagnan answered for the other man, nodding as Athos gently broke the leaves and started tentatively rubbing the purple veins on the other side on his bumpy skin.

'Come on, let's get back to the city- I'm sure there's a lotion or something that can work a little better.' Porthos chuckled, readying his horse.

'I am not riding her back!' Athos muttered tersely, but his eyes softened as the horse merely looked up at him with wide eyes, snorting lightly as she nestled against Aramis' horse.

'Well you can ride up with me and we can tether her to my horse?' Aramis muttered, shrugging. 'Its not far.' He added, before smiling as Athos nodded and began tethering his horse onto the reigns of his friend's horse. 'As long as you promise me one thing, however.' He added as Athos finished.

'What's that?' He asked as he looked up at his friend's impish smile.

'You can hop on my horse only as long as you promise not to sit with my with your legs astride like a maiden!' He grinned.

Athos rolled his eyes and nodded tersely as he grabbed Aramis' forearm and used it to lever himself up behind him- Aramis sat forward a little on his saddle; it was a snug fit, but they weren't that far from Paris anyway.

'Ready my love?' He grinned, laughing out loud as Athos hit him upside the head with an indignant noise.

'Come on then, let's go home.' He grinned, before they set off, the only noise for a while being incessant scratching from Athos as he battled with his stinging nettle bumps along the way.


	15. O is for Opportunities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> O is for Opportunities.....

The night was dark and the sky was starry. D'Artagnan had just come back to Paris after delivering a message that was personal to Treville; he hadn't asked, and no answer was given. The task had taken him all day, something he had fretted about because of his training with the other musketeers, but Treville had been adamant that this job took priority over everything else that day, so who was he to argue?

Now both he and his horse were tired and thirsty, having ridden over 50 miles to deliver the note to what appeared to be a family member by the squeal the youngest daughter of the homeowner had let out when he had mentioned his Captain's name. Nevertheless the letter was ripped from his grasp, a small meal was given for his journey home, and he was soon sent on his way, a reply tucked in his pocket.

It was well and truly nightfall by the time he had arrived, sore and aching, back into the confines of Paris. After dropping off the reply and getting a small sum for his troubles from Treville he had gone back down the steps to the garrison area and been greeted by the other three. They too looked tired, but Athos had said it was from hard training, and nothing a drink couldn't solve. D'Artagnan had nodded, pleased that the day was drawing to a close in the company of friends rather than on his own with nought by his horse for company.

Aramis had some cleaning of his blades and muskets to do before they were to leave for the tavern, so they had passed the time laughing and talking about the days events, as they normally did- soon it was time to go, and they all headed for the nearest drinking hole, the prospect of wine and ale now most appealing to all of them.

As they turned the corner a familiar figure was stood by a shut-up food trader's stall, looking for all the world lost and bewildered. D'Artagnan knew better, and excused himself from the group as they wandered in the direction of the tavern. 'I'll catch up with you in a minute.' He promised before walking in the direction of the figure; Porthos shrugged and left them to it. Aramis and Athos, meanwhile, stood back a little and considered the situation.

'Should we...?' Aramis started, but found he couldn't find the words.

'What?' Athos challenged, arching an eyebrow.

'You know...oh, I'm sure they're fine...'

'Aramis...are you saying you're concerned for the lad? After all your dealings with the opposite sex?'

'But she's married and-' he shut his mouth as he realised how hypocritical he sounded. 'He's a grown man.' He settled for stoutly, sighing. 'He knows what he's doing I'm sure, as does she.'

Athos nodded thoughtfully before shrugging, tapping Aramis on the chest and motioning for the door. 'After you then.' Aramis nodded with a smile and led the way, closing it before his conscience could get the better of him.

D'Artagnan, meanwhile, was stealthily sneaking up to the figure, already inhaling the sweet scent that enveloped her; the smell sent butterflies soaring in his stomach.

She tensed as he put his hands on her hips, squeezing lightly while pressing a kiss to her soft hair. 'Evening,' he smiled as she turned, her mouth upturned in a smile. 'And what would a woman as lovely as yourself be doing out on this street at this time of night?'

'I was..' Constance flailed her arms a little, looking for something to blame. 'Looking for bread.'

'Hmmm?' D'Artagnan smiled, before sighing softly, looking down at her with fond eyes. 'You are a terrible liar...' He smiled, before leaning down and gently kissing her lips ; they both melted at the touch as Constance deepened the kiss. He pressed her back a little against the cold brick wall, hands roving up to her neckline and caressing the soft skin of her neck and ears.

'Alright then,' she said breathlessly as she carded her hands through his thick hair. 'I was worried about you,' she kissed him again, pressing the back of his head to deepen the kiss even more.

'Me?' D'Artagnan pulled back at that, eyes creased in a small frown. 'Why?'

'You normally drop in to the house at least once a day, and you didn't so I thought...maybe something had happened to you.'

'Oh,' d'Artagnan nodded, eyes apologetic as he kissed her cheekbone tenderly. 'Treville sent me on a long mission with a note. All sorted now though...' He whispered as he pressed a kiss to her forehead again, smiling as Constance closed her eyes and leant into the touch. 'Missed you though.' He added, rubbing her forearms with his thumbs as she opened her eyes again, mouth forming a small o of surprise. 'You did?' She smiled, eyes suddenly impish. 'Well, I don't blame you, I am quite missable...'

'That you are, my love.' D'Artagnan grinned, kissing her deeply again. She smiled into the embrace, before wrapping her arms around him and pulling him closer; she rested her head comfortably on his coat in the crook of his neck for a few seconds, completely content with the world. They stood like that for a while, before he was the one to break the embrace, only now looking furtively around. 'We shouldn't be doing this out in the open.' He muttered, using his thumb to trace a pattern on her cheek as Constance sighed.

'I wish we didn't have to hide.' She said sadly, now also flicking her eyes left and right for people.

'As do I, but for now we have to do it like this, you know that.' He gently reminded her, moving her head with his thumb so their eyes met. 'One day we will be able to go out like a proper couple, just you wait.' He smiled.

'Promise?'

'On my life.' He said, grinning as she rolled her eyes. 'What?'

'You're so dramatic.' She smiled. He arched an eyebrow and nodded a little, shrugging.

'I better go...' He whispered after a beat. Constance sighed again, nodding a little sadly; she knew he was right.

'Have a good evening.' She said, stepping away from the wall and wiping her hands on her dress.

D'Artagnan eyed her as she looked further down the street, pink patches now high on her cheekbones. 'Hey...' He whispered, catching her hand lightly and pressing a kiss to the soft flesh of the top of it. 'Are you mad at me?'

'No, no of course not...' She replied, shaking her head with a small smile on her face. 'I just wish we didn't have to hide.'

D'Artagnan nodded and pulled her closer one last time; their kiss was deep this time, as if it was the last time they'd be in this embrace for years. Their hands roved and caressed each other's faces as the moon shone above them- d'Artagnan finally let go, breathless from both the physicality and the emotion of it. 'See you later?' He whispered, already yearning for their next meeting.

'Is that even a question?' She grinned, putting a hand on his cheek. 'You better do, mister musketeer.' D'Artagnan grinned at the name and stepped backwards, bowing lightly to her before turning away. She stood watching him for for a few seconds as he made his way back along the street, heading in the direction of the tavern where the others had just gone- she turned away too soon, however, and so missed the cloaked and darkened figure pushing him into the shadows of another alley, closely followed by the silver flash of a blade in the night.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As d'Artagnan slowly meandered to the door of the tavern he still had butterflies bouncing around in his stomach; he sighed happily, before thinking it would be a good idea if he turned around to wave at her- after all, he wouldn't be seeing her for a couple of days, considering his hectic schedule. No sooner had he stopped to twist and wave at her he felt powerful hands suddenly grab at him from the darkness and push him into another alley, shrouded in darkness. He growled in the back of his throat and quickly had his hands up, ready to fight back, when his eyes caught the silver flash of a blade bathed in moonlight.

He stopped, palms raised, and looked into the face of the figure- whoever it was had their face hidden by a scarf or something, so all he could see was two beady brown eyes and a shock of auburn fringe that had escaped from the hat he was wearing.

'I have money.' He said evenly as he stepped back- the man's blade was big enough for him to realise he meant business. 'You don't need to do this.'

'This isn't about money.' The man retorted- his voice was like leather.

'So, what?' D'Artagnan replied, a frown forming on his face.

'I'm here on behalf of another,' the man replied, 'he wants me to give you a message.'

D'Artagnan almost sighed with relief. 'A message? Let me hear it then.'

The man smiled, and d'Artagnan was horribly reminded of a dog he once saw in Gascony; the teeth were long and yellowed, ferocious looking. The man wielded his blade expertly, and d'Artagnan's eyes widened more as he saw what looked like dried blood still caked on his knuckles... A blade for hire, then. He wondered who it was that had sent him, but before he could ask the man began talking again. 'My employer tells me you have become close to a woman. A woman you have no right to. A woman who is meant for another.' The man paused as d'Artagnan tensed, suddenly looking round. Constance...

'Who is your employer?' He barked, readying himself. 'Tell me!'

The man grinned, shaking his head, 'I am not finished.' He replied, bringing the blade up again. 'My employer wants you to know you have a choice- stop your relationship with this woman, and nothing will happen. Continue with your dalliances and you will know pain more than you could ever experience.'

D'Artagnan breathed out evenly at that, turning dark eyes on him. 'Are we done?'

'Not quite.' The man smiled, before the blade was tight in his fist. 'My employer also wanted me to give you...a little incentive to stop, before the pain truly begins.'

D'Artagnan's eyes grew wide as the man drew himself up to full height, the grin still plastered on his face. He darted back to give himself some space; how he wished he had a blade- just as the man stepped forwards, however, there was a sudden click of a musket being drawn.

The man stiffened as the musket was placed against his temple. 'I don't like people who threaten unarmed men.' Athos growled, moonlight suddenly shining on the scene.

'Cowards, I call them.' Aramis added as he drew his blade and stood on his other side, quirking an eyebrow.

'I'd go even further and just call them "dead".' Porthos growled, stepping close to d'Artagnan and handing him a small blade. D'Artagnan nodded gratefully before turning dark eyes to the man once more.

'Your employer. Now.'

The man still managed to laugh, but it was immediately cut off as Aramis pressed his rapier into his shoulder warningly. 'He asked you a question.' He hissed. 'Be a good man and answer it and we may yet let you live.'

The man turned his head and gave Aramis a dark stare, before suddenly spitting at the ground, onto the musketeer's boot.

'Charming.' Athos growled, his musket still pressed to his temple. 'The hard way it is, then.' He added, before changing tack and aiming his gun at a rather more "southerly" area. The man tensed at once, eyes swivelling to Athos.

'The name.' Athos muttered, finger on the trigger, 'you have five seconds.'

'My employer...'

'Five.'

'He doesn't-'

'Four.'

'He is-'

'Three.'

'I can't! I c-'

'Two...'

'He never said his name!' The man shouted, face ashen. 'I talked to him through letters, sent by local market children!'

'You're lying to me.'

'Never! We've never spoken face to face!'

Athos looked across to d'Artagnan, who gave him a minute shrug. 'Who do you know him as?'

'He works at the palace, that's all I know-'

'The palace?' Porthos echoed with a snort. 'You have to do better than that!'

'I swear it!' The man nodded at d'Artagnan, eyes wide as Athos still had his gun aimed sqaurely at his privates. 'He is employed by the palace.'

D'Artagnan didn't know what to think. Who else knew about his love for Constance? The palace? Why would the palace be interested?

He stepped closer- the man flinched as he leaned in close. 'Tell your employer you've given the message, and that it has been duly noted.' He stepped back as the man nodded, motioning to Aramis and Athos that they should do the same.

They did so with their eyes still dark; Athos still had his gun trained on the man as he nodded again before running back into the darkened streets.

'You shouldn't have let him go.' Porthos muttered, sheathing the blade d'Artagnan handed back.

'If you had killed him whoever employed him would know.' The younger man reasoned, his hands shaking slightly as he looked to the end of the alley. 'I don't want to give Constance any more trouble.' If the others had heard the man speaking from the start then they knew it was her; there was little point pretending.

'You need to be careful.' Aramis muttered, sheathing his rapier before putting a hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder. 'You and I play a dangerous game, my friend.' He added, winking at him. 'You need to make sure your feelings are true- if they are a whim it would be wise for you to-'

'I'd die for her.' D'Artagnan replied with such passion that the older man smiled and nodded. There was often times he saw himself in the young man.

'Then you need to be very careful,' he said, squeezing the shoulder lightly. 'Or you may well end up doing as you say.' There was little point swaying him from his feelings- they'd drive him into more trouble.

'I need to see her, I need to-'

'Not tonight,' Athos muttered, shaking his head. 'That's too risky.' He didn't like the idea of a man who had been paid to hurt d'Artagnan roaming the streets- he also didn't relish the idea of said man following him to Constance's home. 'See her tomorrow- I'll drop by on my way home tonight, she's on my way.' D'Artagnan still looked worried, so he softened his voice a little as he continued. 'She'll be fine.'

They all stood in silence for a while, before Porthos cleared his throat. 'I think what we all need is a drink.' He said, voice devoid of the usual humour.

Aramis cocked his head and nodded, and even d'Artagnan had to admit he really fancied an ale now. 'I'll have one.' He muttered, before the four of them quietly made their way from the alley, back to the hustle and bustle of the streets of Paris.


	16. P is for Poisoned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> P is for Poisoned....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is set near the beginning of season 1- enjoy!

Aramis sighed and rolled his neck, tiredness creeping into his veins like blood. They had spent a considerable part of the day looking after the King at a large city-wide ball that the palace was hosting; most of the city was there, plus a sizeable chunk of the rest of France too. They had spent all the time on their feet with only a small meal to get them through the task- as the king was getting steadily drunker they had been getting steadily bored.

D'Artagnan and Athos were doing the security rounds around the other rooms, just to check that no one was loitering where they had no right to be.

Aramis was whistling under his breath in the tune of the orchestra when he spotted a woman in the crowd- her hair fell in delicate curls at her shoulders, and her red lipstick made her pale skin almost shine. He stared for a moment, a small smile forming on his lips- she was beautiful. Her dress was expertly fitted and complimented her hair, and she was clutching a wine glass to her bosom with one hand, while the other was gently playing with a thin black cloth necklace fastened tight around her neck.

Porthos cleared his throat at him to jolt him from his reverie- as he turned to tut he saw the Cardinal push himself through the throng of people to roughly grab at the woman's elbow and hiss some words into her ear, before casting an eye around the room; Aramis averted his eyes as he looked up at him and Porthos. Seconds later she gave him a scathing look before nodding shortly and striding away from the Cardinal, sweeping from the room like the last black cloud in a storm.

'She seems to be taken, mate.' Porthos chuckled, stretching and aching neck.

'What, the Cardinal?' Aramis scoffed, shaking his head. 'He's a religious man...' He knew full well he took on lovers, but there was something about that woman that made him want to believe it not to be true.

'And when has being religious ever stopped a man?' Replied the larger man, chuckling. 'Besides, she's way out of your league...'

'Oh?' Aramis' ears pricked up at that. 'And why not?' He asked.

'Just...uh...evening Captain.' The two men stood to attention as Treville stopped in front of them. 'The Queen has expressed a wish that you are given a break,' he stated, and Aramis could see he was having a hard time trying to resist an urge to roll his eyes. 'She had ordered that you all have a a two hour break.'

'Uh, what about the royal couple?' Porthos asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Treville smiled at that. 'I know it's hard to believe, but you four are hardly all that the musketeer regiment has to offer- others are already on their way to take your places. When they arrive you can go, but not before.' He nodded as the two of them now stood a little more comfortably- the promise of a good meal and some wine was very inviting.

As Athos and d'Artagnan were not yet back they spent the time eyeing the crowds, looking for any signs of trouble- fortunately none presented itself before two of their brothers arrived to take their place. With a joke and a word of thanks they were then shouldering their way through the crowds of dancing and drinking revellers.

'Where you off?' Aramis asked the other three as they finally caught up with Athos and d'Artagnan. They shrugged, at a sort of loss.

'Buffet room?' Porthos chuckled, earning a smile and a nod. Aramis grinned as d'Artagnan led the way, leaving he and Porthos to bring up the rear. He looked down a darkened corridor as they made their way to the food rooms- his eyes widened and a smile spread onto his face as he saw the beautiful woman from before, looking up at a richly decorated tapestry.

He stopped, causing Porthos to walk into his back. 'What?' He grimaced, rubbing his chin. His eyes now caught the woman. 'You really are insatiable, aren't you?' He snorted, before shrugging as Aramis smiled at him. 'Its your two hours.' He added, before clapping his shoulder and following the other two.

Aramis breathed out deeply, before smiling to himself and slowly walking up the darkened hallway. 'Very nice...' He breathed, making the woman give out a small gasp of surprise. 'But not as nice as you are.'

She smiled at that, her face lighting up as her eyes shone- Aramis felt his heart skip a beat. Up close she looked a little older than he had previously seen, but that hardly mattered; she was stunningly beautiful.

'I bet you say that to all the girls.' She replied, and her voice was like honey to his ears.

'Only when it's true.'

'Flatterer.'

'Well...if the boot fits, my lady.' Aramis grinned.

'And it most certainly does- and a musketeer too? I am fortunate.' She smiled, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing lightly.

'I'm here for your protection, my lady.'

'And I'm grateful- but what do I have to fear when I have someone as dashing as you taking care of us?'

'Now you shouldn't tease, my lady-' Aramis chuckled, licking his lips. -I was being serious.'

'As was I.' The woman replied, eyes flashing in a way that made Aramis think of lightening.

They were stood in a silence for a while, before they turned as voices met their ears. 'We should get out of here for a while...I have my bags in a room near here, would you accompany me?' She batted her eyelashes at him, before giving him a wink. 'For protection, of course.'

Aramis grinned, hardly believing his luck. 'I would be honoured, my lady.'

He followed her as they walked down the shadowed corridor, away from the voices of other revellers- her shoes clicked on the wooden floor as they went. Soon she was opening the doors to her rooms; Aramis looked round as she slipped from her shoes, arching her feet with a small hiss.

'Bliss after a long day...' She commented, already reaching for the wine. 'Drink?'

'Please.' Aramis replied, before sliding up to a chair. As she poured the woman turned to kick her shoes under her bed, before presenting the two glasses with a flourish.

'For you...' She smiled, handing him a glass of red wine- Aramis saw the glint of colour as she passed it through candlelight and into his hand.

He set it down before clearing his throat. 'I don't believe we've been aquatinted?' He said, smiling and running a finger down her forearm as she took a swallow of her own glass. 'A beautiful woman like you, I'm sure we'd have met before?'

'I've just arrived- I'm employed by the Cardinal. A personal assistant of sorts.' She smiled, sitting down opposite him. 'I'm not a royal or a courtesan, so I don't show myself at functions very often...'

'Shame,' Aramis chuckled, before reaching for his glass. 'You would have brightened many a ball or party for me.' They shared a look before Aramis downed his glass in one, wiping his mouth with a smile.

'Sorry, soldier habit.' He grinned, licking his lips.

'A real man's way of drinking, I approve.' She grinned, before leaning closer to him. 'I miss the company of a real man...'

Aramis smiled and gave her a small shrug. 'Well you're in my company now.'

'That I am...' She whispered, before standing and taking his hands, leading him to the bed. Aramis stood, and at once noticed something was wrong. Very wrong. His head swam as if he'd drunk a barrel of wine, and everything was ever so slightly spinning.

'I...' He muttered, blinking hard.

'Yes?' The woman replied, ghosting her lips over his, her eyes heavy and half-lidded. 'What's wrong?'

'I'm not sure...' He tried to pull his head back as she wound her hands around the back of his neck to draw him in. 'I feel...wrong...' He breathed in sharply, feeling his stomach churn as well as a pulse beginning behind his eyes. He breathed harshly into the kiss she planted on his lips, a moan of confusion escaping him.

'No...stop...' He groaned, before she let him pull himself away- he almost overbalanced and fell onto the floor. 'I need to go.' He muttered, looking up at her as she started blurring in the light of the candle.

She stood back and let him gather his bearings as he jolted for the door. She stood in front of him as if to steady him, before reaching into a pocket and pulling out a small vial. Aramis could barely concentrate as she dropped it into his pocket. 'Just in case...' She whispered, before kissing his temple and stepping aside as he bolted unsteadily for the door.

As the door slammed shut behind him and he tottered down the corridors she smiled, hand once again moving untoward the black satin necklace tight to her skin.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Athos sighed as he took a bite of an apple- it turned out they had the run of the food rooms, considering everyone else had already eaten; once they had turfed out an amorous couple they'd found under one of the tables, obscured by the tablecloth, that was.

Now time was getting on, and he was sure Treville would be along soon to tell them to get back to work- that didn't explain where Aramis had got to, however. Porthos had grinned when he had explained that their friend had seen a woman in the ballroom and was now trying to woo her, but Athos was now seriously considering the possibility that she had eaten him.

He had finished more than a half of a jug of ale, while d'Artagnan had polished off the fruit section- a choice that Porthos found very funny; he had spent the time working his way through the leftover meat selections.

Athos was content with the cakes, buns and tarts- he had always had a sweet tooth, and was now eating an apple to clear his palate before they got back to work.

'So where do you reckon he's gone?' D'Artagnan asked, sighing contentedly with a full stomach.

Porthos snorted, and Athos grinned himself. 'Do you want to explain the birds and bees to our friend?'

'Maybe when you're a little older, lad.' Porthos added, chuckling as d'Artagnan scowled across at them both.

They were still smiling as the door was flung open so hard Athos was sure the hinges had snapped- a figure, clad in blue, suddenly lurched into the room, their eyes wild and wide. They got to their feet with small growls of surprise as they realised it was Aramis- Athos was the first to get to his side, eyes widening in alarm as his brother let out a long groan, his knees finally buckling as he all but fell into Athos' arms.

He was shaking as Athos gently laid him on the thickly carpeted floor, his eyes wide and confused as his teeth chattered together. 'What the hell has happened?!' Athos growled, before looking to d'Artagnan as voices were heard outside, 'shut the damn door!'

D'Artagnan did as he was bade, but before he did he caught sight of a horribly familiar person- she smiled across at him as she passed the room, giving him a small wave, before turning and continuing walking back to the ball, her auburn curls bouncing on her shoulders.

Behind him Aramis was shaking as if he was freezing; his head felt like it would explode, and his stomach continued to churn dangerously- he suddenly grasped Athos' shoulder to lever himself up before vomiting on the carpet beside him; Athos grumbled in distaste, but his concern for his friend overpowered his worry for the upholstery.

He took hold of his friend's forearms to let him know he was there when he started heaving out his breaths, like every one of them was a trial- 'I need you to breathe normally Aramis….' He ordered, worry spearing his chest as the other man merely looked up with wide, confused eyes.

'Steady, steady...' He said as Aramis groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and arching into himself as his head got cloudier. He hacked a cough into his hand, and Athos could see sweat beginning to bead as a fever began taking hold. Poison, he quickly realised. He'd been poisoned.

'Porthos, salt...' He ordered, before frowning as Aramis, between hacking coughs and pawing at his head in agony, started flailing at his pockets. 'Quickly!'

As Porthos quickly ran to get the salt and a glass of water Aramis felt panic erupt in his chest- although the room was spinning, he had the vague memory of the woman putting something in his pocket...

'No...' He threw out shaking his head as Athos swam in front of his eyes- he could barely see, and his hearing was getting muffled too; his hands were getting heavier, so he was glad when Athos gently probed in his pockets too. He frowned as he pulled out the small vial of clear liquid.

'Who would poison someone but give their victim the cure?' D'Artagnan muttered, feeling sick himself.

'Someone who wants to play games, but we can't worry about that now-' Athos muttered, unstopping the cork and upending it in Aramis' mouth. Within seconds the usual pallor came back to his face, and the shakes began to subside.

Porthos passed him a small goblet of water, which he tentatively sipped as the fog in his head began to slowly dissipate. 'You forgot the wine...' He managed to get out, smiling up at Porthos as he gave a relieved chuckle and put a hand on his shoulder. 'He's fine.' He snorted, before wiping a hand down his face- they were about to ask what the hell had happened when the door crashed open and Treville walked into the room, an angry expression on his face.

'I thought I'd find you lot in here; come and get back to-what the hell happened here?' He quickly came forwards and dropped to a crouch beside Aramis, who was feeling as weak as a kitten.

'Poison.' D'Artagnan muttered, face pale.

'What?' Treville barked, eyes wide. 'Did you catch the person who did it?'

'No, we were too busy saving his life.' Athos muttered darkly, worry still in his voice.

'We need to evacuate, we need to get the king and queen to-'

'Captain, she'll be long gone by now...' Aramis whispered, breathing hard as everything still swam a little.

'She? Who? What did she look like?'

'I...' Aramis felt a jolt of panic as he tried to recall what had happened. It was hazy, like a blurred dream. 'I don't remember.' He shook his head a little as Treville groaned a little. 'I'm sorry sir, I just can't remember...'

Treville knew he was telling the truth by the scared, little-boy expression of confusion on his face; he put a hand on his forearm to steady him, his eyes softening. 'It's alright, we'll find her.' He promised, though he knew they probably never would. 'I'll get a search going and start making suggestions for people to leave- you go home, and you three can help him.'

Aramis nodded appreciatively, before Athos and Porthos took an arm each to gently hoist him up on unsteady legs. 'Thank you sir...' He muttered, rubbing his tired head with an equally tired hand. He felt like he'd been beaten up whilst being in the deepest sleep of his life.

Treville nodded, before stepping back and allowing them to pass. 'Go to the matron first thing, it'll be too late to go now.'

'Will do.' Aramis nodded, his stomach still feeling tender. He looked guiltily down at the pile of vomit on the floor. 'I'll pay for the damage.' He added, face reddening.

'Don't worry about it, lad.' Treville smiled, waving it away. Aramis nodded gratefully as the others still supported him. 'And boys-' he added as they stood at the door. 'Take the back door.'

'Yes sir.' Athos replied before hitching his arm around Aramis a little better and leading them out the door.


	17. Q is for Quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q is for Quiet

Porthos stepped over the root of the tree, the fallen leaves gathered around his boots as an autumn wind blew around him, tickling his neck with the chill of the coming winter. The forest was ablaze with splashes of colour; reds, oranges and yellows, and they probably would have been very pretty and awe inspiring had he been walking through these trees with his friends by his side and in the daytime.

But he wasn't. He was alone, at night, walking through the empty forest- every tree held a figure to his eyes, and every horizon held impending doom.

He swallowed as he continued on his way; he would be out soon, he reasoned. Out the other side, and off back to the City. He hoped. He had dropped his map back at the village, and with no sun to guide him, he was totally on his own.

His job for the day had been simple and done with ease, and now he was journeying home in the twilight, ready for a firm drink. He was used to hustle and bustle, to noise, to clamour, to people- not silent trees, menacing shadows and fell noises in the air. A rustle here, a click there...even as at the solider he was it still put him on edge.

'Don't be stupid now...' He told himself as he looked up at the full moon as it peeped between the canopy of the trees. He hoped he didn't have far to go. 'There's nothing there...nothing at all...'

He hated open space- not enough places to hide, he reasoned. D'Artagnan disagreed, but then he would do as he'd frown up in the forests and fields of Gascony, running barefoot in mud probably, he thought with a rue smile.

He breathed in deeply as he heard a fox cry out, long and drawn out- despite himself he felt his nerves fizzle with adrenaline. 'Get a hold of yourself!' He berated himself, cursing inwardly.

He kept on, eyes fixed ahead as he fought to keep his composure.

The others were doing their own errands, busy with training and jobs for Treville, and he was used to doing tasks alone; it was part of the job. Still, he wished he had Aramis with him to crack a joke or tell him to not be so stupid...hell, even silent and sombre Athos would have been good to have around.

But he was not with the others. He was alone. Very alone. The forest seemed to stretch on forever, an endless silhouette of night. He cleared his throat and hunched tighter into his cloak, grateful for the warmth; not long and he'd be home.

Crack.

He stopped, eyes swivelling around. He'd imagined it, he reasoned. The product of a tired mind. He pressed on, eyes now scrunched a little to squint at the scant light. Nothing to lose his mind over, he told himself.

Crack.

He didn't stop this time, merely kept going- he'd heard stories of this dark forest. A man that had been cursed to wander for evermore, along with a little girl that had been killed by a jealous step-mother. Some told tales of death himself living in them, waiting for the unsuspecting and the naive to wander into his path.

Not that he believed such tales. He pretended to listen, to make fun of the dark stories, rolling his eyes. Then again...

Crack.

A part of him did wonder. A part of him believed. No, don't be stupid... He told himself once more, swallowing hard as he kept going, ignoring the sounds. There was nothing here. It was just a forest. An insignificant, measly forest.

There was a rustle behind him- he stopped now, breathing hard. It was too close. Too loud. Too human.

His fingers curled around his sword, despite his brain telling him how foolish he was being. No way he'd be beaten by a cursed man, or a ghost, he promised.

He turned now, steeling himself for what he might find, but he found nothing. Just a forest, empty and silent. He breathed out deeply, relaxing his fingers; maybe he was imagining it. His nerves fizzed, his mind whirred- he had better be going now, get out of here.

He turned once more, feeling sweat bead on his forehead- he stifled a yelp as he came face to face with a darkened, shrouded figure, clad in black. He was fumbling for his blade as the figure barked out a very familiar laugh.

'What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?!' Porthos exploded, smacking the figure on the shoulder. 'I could've stabbed you! What if I had my musket out?! You'd be riddled with holes you daft bastard!'

'I'm sorry!' Aramis managed to get out, trying to control his laughter as he took off the shroud. 'I came to find you and when I saw you wandering looking like a lost lamb I had to do something!'

His eyes were alight with such childish humour that Porthos found he couldn't be angry for too long- he put a hand to his chest, closing his eyes briefly. 'My heart is beating so hard you stupid man!'

Aramis laughed again, putting his cloak on the right way and standing beside him. 'I'm sorry, mon ami...' He grinned, still smiling from ear to ear.

'No you're not.' Porthos barked, breathing in hard. 'Come on, let's get out of this godforsaken place!'

'Right after you!' Aramis grinned, falling into step beside his friend. They walked in a companionable silence- just as Aramis opened his mouth to speak a noise filled their nerves with a thrill of horror.

Crack.

They stopped, eyes swivelling to each to each other. 'Aramis, enough is enough.'

'That wasn't me.'

'You did that, didn't you?'

'I swear on all that is holy.'

Crack.

Aramis turned to his friend, eyes wide- seconds later he pulled up his breeches and started running forwards shaking his head. 'Every man for himself!' He shouted back.

Porthos sighed and watched him go, a small smile on his lips. He wasn't falling for his friend's games this time. He had shown a little weakness, a little fear- never again. He wasn't going to be a victim of this prank again…..

Crack. The noise was louder than ever before. Porthos forgot to breathe.

Crack.

'Right behind you!' He shouted, before rushing after him, leaving the dense forest as far behind them as they could…


	18. R is for Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a prompt chapter, set in the very early first season!
> 
> R is for Rescue.....

'You'd think they'd have given up by now...!' Aramis yelled as he clashed swords with an oncoming man with yellow teeth. He sidestepped and used his cloak to block the man's view before giving him a shove in the chest, over the old stone battlement that they were fighting on. He didn't stop to hear the dull thud as he hit the ground below.

'You think?' Athos called back, sporting a bloody lip as he punched another man to the sodden floor. 'You know what they're like!'

The gang (or rather company, by the sheer number of them) of thieves, sell-swords and deserters they'd been commissioned to arrest and bring to justice were seasoned men, bold and brash. It had taken a morning of negotiation to get to a stage where they could accept the king's terms, but a remark from another younger musketeer had thrown their plan into disarray - now it was well and truly scuppered, and resulted in a messy brawl cum battle that was still raging into evening.

Neither side had been fighting to kill, at least in the beginning. No muskets had been drawn by either side; men of their standings fought with blade and with fist, and the musketeers were well versed with both.

D'Artagnan was doing well, Aramis noted with a pang of pride. The ledge they were fighting on was built on an old stone battlement that used to be part of an ancient castle- the drop on the other side was fierce; the resulting fall could result in injury and even death if you fell wrong.

Men climbed the stone like rats, and the musketeers that held the top of the ledge were able to fight them off with little difficulty- suddenly a surge of them drew up all at once, eyes ablaze with anger and the gleam of steel.

The sea of blue was on them in seconds, with d'Artagnan and Aramis being closest to the battle- 'to your left!' D'Artagnan called, and Aramis was able to doge a blade before aiming a right hook at his jaw. The man crumpled with a grunt as Aramis' knuckles began to bruise; he looked over at d'Artagnan with a smile of victory, before his eyes widened and his mouth opened in horror as he saw the youngest member of the brotherhood being viciously shoved backwards.

'D'artagnan!' He heard Athos shout in warning, and without looking around him to check for danger Aramis threw down his sword to dash to his side...with seconds to spare his fingers clasped around the young man's forearms as he overbalanced and began to head over the edge of the battlement.

'Got...you...' He groaned out as d'Artagnan scrabbled at the edge, desperately trying to angle himself away-

'Behind you!' He called, but it was too late. Aramis yelled out in pain as a blade cut into his upper back. He almost let go right there, but managed to hold on as he screwed his eyes shut and pulled- a cry from behind him soon coupled with a dull thud and a gurgling noise. Seconds later Athos and Porthos was at his side, grasping d'Artagnan and hauling him up. As Porthos pulled him the rest of the way up Athos grabbed Aramis and pulled him away from the battle, eyes full of concern at the blood on his friend's uniform.

The battle was almost won; the men littered the floor. The dead were being left for now, whilst the unconscious and surrendered were being shackled for easy transportation to the city. Aramis leaned heavily on Athos as he stumbled into the safety of a copse of trees away from the arena of battle.

D'Artagnan rushed along behind after thanking Porthos for pulling him up; he watched, eyes wide as Athos gently put Aramis on the floor to inspect his wound.

'How bad?' Aramis growled out, wincing as Athos took off his cloak and used his blade to get to the wound.

A few moments of silence followed as the other three men leaned over to check. 'Athos?'

'I'm afraid to tell you...we're going to have to chop it.' Athos deadpanned, relief flooding through him as he saw it wasn't deep at all- it still needed some stitches, but it wouldn't be life threatening.

'Yeah...I'm sure I saw an axe somewhere...' Porthos added, chuckling as Aramis let out a shaky laugh.

D'Artagnan, meanwhile, was quiet. Guilt trickled into his heart as he stood back to let the others work- if he had been paying attention he wouldn't have been caught off guard...

'It wasn't your fault, lad.' Aramis muttered, seemingly reading the young Gascon's mind. 'These things happen.'

'If I had been more alert I-'

'D'artagnan, it wasn't your fault. Besides, no harm done.'

'No harm?' D'Artagnan eyed the winding, thin, bloody scar snaking across the older man's upper back. Surely he could feel pain? 'Every time you move you'll know it was me that caused you to get that.' He added, shame making him lower his eyes. 'And so will I.'

The other two sat back, worried but glad for his honesty. The boy had only been joining them for real tasks and missions for a few weeks, and was still very green and naive when it came to the emotion of battle- the physicality he could deal with, but guilt and empathy were still very strong to him, whereas it had diluted in the others.

Porthos softened his tone as he tapped the young man on the shoulder. 'Hey-' he started, before leaning towards Aramis and pulling his shirt a little further to expose more skin, and a long scar that trailed down to his naval. 'See that one?'

D'Artagnan nodded, as Athos set about cleaning the wound on Aramis' back. Porthos sat back before continuing. 'He took that one after I was knocked unconscious by the stock of a musket- he held me upright so I didn't fall down a mountainside, leaving his side exposed.'

Aramis smiled at the memory, before wincing as Athos dabbed at the wound. 'Ouch!' He protested.

'Sorry, sorry...' Athos replied, before Porthos began speaking again. This time he pulled open the neck of his own shirt, revealing a small musket ball scar on his collarbone.

'This one came from when Aramis here decided it would be a good idea to run between two pillars amid rapid gunfire- if I hadn't of pulled him down he would have no head right now!' He chuckled before continuing. 'As chance would have it my chest got in the way.'

D'Artagnan began to see where this was going, but guilt still sprang as Aramis growled out as Athos got out his stitching equipment from Aramis' pack.

Porthos then leaned over and untucked Athos' shirt as he worked, pulling it up so a scar was exposed on his side near his ribs. 'See that one? He took that after Aramis was held hostage by the leader of a group of deserters to get a ransom. Athos was what you'd call "a diversion" whilst I took out the men.'

'You know why I showed you them?' He asked as he started to help Athos deal with the wound, before turning back to d'Artagnan.

'I...think so.'

'The point of showing you all our different scars was because we all took them for each other. Not because of our job- although that goes without saying- but because we're brothers. It's what brothers do; we protect each other with flesh and bone, no matter the cost. Being a musketeer means being part of a family- you are part of a family that protects their own.' Porthos softened again as d'Artagnan nodded and gave a small smile.

'Aramis left himself open to attack to save you because you're his brother- we'd do the same for him, and we'd do the same for you.'

'I understand.' And he really did. He leaned down to Aramis, who was staring resolutely ahead with gritted teeth. 'Thank you.' He whispered, hoping the others didn't hear.

'You don't have to thank me.' Aramis smiled, turning to the young man. 'Its what brothers do.' He echoed, before hissing in another breath. 'But if you do it next time, I may have to let you fall!' He teased, happy when d'Artagnan barked out a laugh. He understood plainly now, and in a strange sense he was honoured to be part of such a protective, brotherly group.

'You're done.' Athos finally said with a sigh. 'Can't say it's my best work, but it'll do till we get back.'

'Fantastic...' Aramis breathed as he was supported upright. 'Good job it's not far!' He added wincing, before the others helped him walk forwards in the direction of their horses.


	19. S is for Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> S is for Sight......

The day had begun boring and mundane, as many of the days did these past weeks. Athos watched clouds drift silently but menacingly across the dark, mid-winter morning sky; he sighed and pushed himself away from the window of his rooms, gathering his training equipment as he went. Business, as per usual in the winter, was faltering and quick to accomplish- Treville had learned one hard winter that ordering his men to stand watch outside the palace for six hours straight not only resulted in hypothermic musketeers, but many days in which he himself had to do the bulk of the work as his men were too sick to move from their beds.

And so they spent the majority of their time either indoors at the palace, guarding in warm corridors or next to roaring fires, or training hard in the garrison, warming their muscles and minds.

This was the schedule for this day, and as Athos buttoned up his coat tight around his throat he wondered whether d'Artagnan was well enough to join them. The previous day he'd been very sniffly, pretending to be fine when he and the others could see perfectly well that he was suffering from the seasonal cold that plagued them all at some time or another. He had been sent home by Treville himself, and had left in the early afternoon, looking like a forlorn puppy in need of a good bath and a warm blanket.

Athos sniffled himself as he felt a snowflake drift onto his face. Perfect. Snow was the bane of his life; it wasn't useful to anyone...it was cold and horrible. He scowled all the way to the garrison.

'Morning!' A cheerful voice broke into his reverie as Aramis greeted him from the wooden table. He was fully dressed in his winter warmers, leaning over a steaming bowl. 'Care for some hot oats?' He asked, digging the spoon into the thick mixture and taking a bite. 'Its delicious!'

'Maybe later,' Athos nodded in thanks, unsheathing his blades and putting them on the hooks near the training area. 'No Porthos? D'Artagnan?' He asked, looking around.

'D'artagnan, no- I called on him on my way here; he looks to be out for at least the next few days. I sent him love from the musketeers, though,' Aramis said with a wry smile. 'And Porthos is late, as per usual. He shouldn't be very long...'

'Good, I need warming up...' Athos said, shivering as the snow filtered down even more.

'I'm afraid I'm quite the wrong person to help with that, mon ami!' Aramis grinned, spooning more oats into his mouth. There was silence for a while as Aramis chewed and Athos brooded about the cold some more, stamping his feet on the stone floor.

Finally, Aramis put down his spoon and pushed away an empty bowl. 'Right, I'm ready now!' He chuckled, before unsheathing his sword and stepping closer.

'At last..' Athos muttered, readying his stance. 'I'll go easy on you, considering you have a full stomach.' He added, grinning wolfishly as Aramis snorted. 'The day you go easy on me is the day I quit, I assure you!'

Athos didn't answer, but merely bent down a little lower, wielding the blade expertly. 'Are you going to bark all day, little doggie- or are you going to bite?' He chided, eyes narrowed now, no smile to be found.

'Oh, gladly bite my friend...' Aramis replied, spinning his sword in his hands. 'I'll gladly bite...'

'Thats what I like to hear.' Athos muttered, before stepping forwards with the first move.

They dashed and parried for a few minutes, bouncing off each other and chiding the other with words and threats- sidestepping and blocking, the pair's duel was long and filled with complicated movements. The clash of steel broke the monotony of the morning, and the two barely noticed the snow now falling heavily- the first they knew of it was when Aramis moved forwards and got a face full of it, before his sword bit into the wooden post of the garrison as his over zealous faux swing hit it. This left his side exposed, and Athos took great delight in gently tapping his friend's shoulder with his blade. 'Dead.' He chuckled, before arching an eyebrow as he saw Aramis trying to tug his blade from the wood.

'How hard were you going to hit me?' He wondered aloud with a wry smile, trying not to laugh at the frustrated expression on Aramis' face as he pulled at the stuck blade. 'I wasn't going to hit you at all. It was meant to go over your head...' He muttered, groaning as he pulled some more.

'Great- now it's stuck...' He grumbled, before stepping back as Athos took a turn. The pole was attached to a shelter that the garrison had made two winters ago after a particularly rainy autumn. The shelter was made of wood and bricks, and was now a little old and rickety, but sturdy nonetheless.

Athos groaned as he too tried to pull the blade from the wood. 'Bloody hell- any harder and you would have gone straight through it!' He teased, finally admitting defeat and stepping back too.

'Having problems?' Porthos' voice boomed from behind them. The larger man grinned across at the both of them, shrugging out of his blue cloak and putting his swords on the table before walking over to join them.

'You could say that...' Aramis conceded, rubbing his neck. 'Its stuck.'

Porthos looked at the blade, eyes wide, before he turned to Athos. 'What did you say to him to make him try to hit you that hard?' He asked, laughing as Aramis gave a little exasperated cry and began to protest once again that he wasn't aiming for his head.

He cocked his head and pretended to get ready by pulling up his sleeves, before grasping the sword firmly in his large palms and jerking it towards him. Nothing.

'Hmm.' He muttered, pulling again. The blade didn't even budge a millimetre. After a couple of tugs he turned to the others. 'I could use some help here!' He muttered, grinning as Aramis went under the shelter, ready to push the blade, whilst the other two held it from the front.

'Ready?' Porthos asked. 'One good pull should do it.'

'Ready.' The other two nodded, steeling themselves.

'Ok...one...two...three...now!'

Athos knew something was wrong as soon as the blade shifted under their hands- a groan from the wood around the cut made from the wood coupled with a creaky noise as it began to splinter. The shelter was heavy, and with one of it's supporting legs now obsolete... That meant- 'Aramis, get out from under-!' He couldn't finish his words as the heavy brick and wood shelter started to collapse- Athos saw the wood buckle and hit Aramis hard on the head as it fell around his shoulders.

'Aramis!' He called out as Porthos grasped his shoulder and pulled him backwards from the dust cloud that enveloped them. 'Aramis!'

There was silence for a while as snow still fluttered down- Athos and Porthos were on their knees in seconds, pulling the bricks away from the massive pile on top of their friend. 'Aramis! Are you alright?' Porthos shouted, eyes wide. Finally they found a dash of blue cloak, and after a few seconds of scrabbling they could finally pull Aramis from the rubble.

Athos' heart was in his mouth as he saw he was unconscious; there was a large lump on the top corner of his forehead, and blood dribbled down from the slowly bruising wound down his face. 'Aramis!' He cried, shaking his shoulders a little. 'Wake up, come on!'

Porthos stood and fetched a small cup of water, and dipped his fingers into the liquid before flicking it over Aramis' face- this seemed to do the trick, and seconds later the man gave a small gasp and opened his eyes.

'Oh thank god...' Porthos groaned out, sagging with relief. Athos, meanwhile, had noticed the huge change in his friend's face.

'What's wrong?' He asked, silencing Porthos at once. 'Aramis?' He added as the other man suddenly scrabbled for his forearm without looking first.

'I...I...' Aramis' voice was high, confused. His eyes widened and refocused. 'I can't see.' He finally said, voice hitched.

'What?' Porthos cried, moving to his other side.

'I can't see...everything is...fuzzy...' He sat shakily up, with Athos grasping his arm. 'Why...why can't I see?' His voice was high again. Everything was blurry, like an oil painting dipped in a puddle of rain- Athos' face was a wash of pink and black, whilst what he presumed was Porthos was a mass of black with a hint of blue.

'I, I don't know- maybe it's where you hit your head?' Athos muttered, heart in his mouth and panic in his veins. 'You've got a really bad lump on it.' He tentatively reached out and gently touched the slowly congealing blood on the lump- Aramis hissed out a pained breath and shrugged away, before his eyes rolled and he let out a groan. 'Need to...lay down...' He moaned; his head suddenly felt too heavy for him to hold up. Athos watched as he lay down, his eyes wide as the pupils flicked around. Snow was falling on his face, and it was starting to come down much heavier, even settling on the ground between them,

'We need to get you to a matron, get out of the cold...' Athos muttered, watching Aramis shudder and his teeth chattering together.

He nodded, but his eyes still wavered as he desperately tried to make out the faces of his friends, or any detail of the garrison. Everything was a flood of colour, slanted and misty. 'I'm blind...' He stated as he felt Athos and Porthos each take an arm. 'I..'

'Aramis we're going to lift you to your feet, alright? Tell us if you need us to stop or anything.' Athos cut across him, conscious of the way his friend's lips were slowly turning blue.

He nodded to Porthos, and they both pulled Aramis upwards and onto his feet- he grabbed his chest and back to steady him as he wobbled on the spot, swaying dangerously as he fought to keep his balance. 'Alright?'

Aramis nodded, but by the way his stomach lurched he was sure those oats would soon be making a most unwelcome reappearance. His vision swam again, but didn't settle- he groaned out loud as he looked up to see a swathe of whites and greys, whilst the garrison was merely a backdrop of faded browns.

'You're going to be ok, you-'

'Ok? You think so?' He asked, turning to the larger block of colour and who he hoped was Porthos. 'I can't see anything...'

'Lets just get you to the matron. See what she says about it... ' Athos said on his other side, before both his forearms were again grasped and he was gently led forwards. He could walk fine enough, even though the ground was a splash of dirty brown. His teeth chattered together, before he squeezed his eyes shut as an almighty pain ripped through his head and around his skull. Athos' eyes widened as Aramis' knees buckled and he dropped, heavy as a sack of stone, and keeled onto the floor.

'Aramis? Aramis!' He called, before yelling for Porthos to fetch a stretcher and the matron as he tried to get him to come round again.

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The snow had settled fully by the time Aramis opened his eyes three days later. The sheets around him were warm, the pillow soft, and a bandage was pulled tight on his head. He winced as he moved his head. He blinked a few times, adjusting to the scant light of the hospital candles along the walls of his room.

The sparse room slowly but surely began to swim into focus- he could see! By the good grace of God himself, he could see!

'Evening.' Athos' voice was low, tired, but happy. Aramis turned to his right and saw him there, wrapped in a hospital issue blanket and nursing a steaming bowl. 'Hot oats?' He offered with a smile.

'Not right now, ta...' Aramis declined, elation rising. He smiled broadly as Athos relaxed into his chair now he was awake. 'I can see again!'

Athos smiled his first true smile in three days- soon after Aramis had collapsed he was rushed into the hospital for his head wound; above all the doctor language and gabble he'd managed to discern the words 'temporary blindness' and 'concussion'. He focused on the first words, as he didn't really understand what the second one entailed. Temporary. It was only temporary.

The problem was, the head injury had been so bad that Aramis hadn't woken for the next three days at all- he stirred, but never opened his eyes. Athos would have known, seeing as he hadn't left his side in all that time.

'I'm so glad.' He said, meaning every word. 'When you didn't wake up again that day I...' He faltered, preferring not to think of the sick feeling that enveloped him whenever his mind went back there. He reached out and squeezed Aramis' forearm instead. 'I'm just thankful you're still here.'

'Me too.' Aramis said, suddenly tired despite his three day sleep. He yawned and settled back in the bed.

'I see you still need rest!' Athos smiled, standing up. 'Now you seem to be on the mend I'll take my leave- I promised Porthos and d'Artagnan that I'd update them when you woke up.' Porthos had wanted to stay with Athos on his vigil, but Treville had needed him for some duties, so he'd had to go.

'Alright.' Aramis nodded, a little sad to see him go. He understood, and smiled across at him as Athos pulled his cloak around him. 'See you three later?'

'Of course- I'll bring them this evening if it's allowed.' Athos promised, before giving Aramis a small nod and stepping from the room, letting the door shut with a snap. Aramis was then left alone once more, nursing a painful head, but thankful for the all the colours and images around him, no matter how boring.


	20. T is for Threats (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A two-parter story this time, owing to the fact I didn't think I could do everything I wanted to without making one gargantuan chapter, hence breaking it into two ^^

Athos woke from a hazy state of unconsciousness with a throbbing headache and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. He lifted his head a little, groaning with the exertion of moving tired muscles; he opened bleary eyes, scanning the low stone room that was full of flickering candles. The wax was near to their end, and through the scant light he could make out the bowed figure of his comrade, still unconscious from the blow that had led to their predicament. His dark hair was dangling over his face so he couldn't see what state he was in- as he was about to open his mouth to speak the door opened and another figure strode in, eyes flashing with malice even in the low light of the room, flanked by two bigger men...

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Three hours earlier...

'I swear, if we spend any more time on the road this week I'm going to set up camp on my horse!' Aramis groaned, stretching aching muscles as they plodded along the deserted dirt road. Twilight had been and gone, and now they were accompanied by a large full moon and a sky full of stars to guide their way back to the capital. Their job had led them far afield, and each musketeer was ready for their own warm beds and a good drink- a short snort from Porthos made both Athos and Aramis turn; they smiled as they saw the larger man put a hand gently on d'Artagnan's shoulder to hold him upright. The young man had managed, despite the rocky terrain and the sharp wind around them, to fall asleep atop his horse- Aramis slowed his own steed to come round his other side, just in case he fell off in his slumber.

'Bless,' he grinned, looking over at the young Gascon; he was fast asleep, oblivious to everything around him, 'look at him.'

Athos smiled at the sarcasm as they continued their slow trek back to Paris- their road led them through a small forest. The absence of a warm sun made the men shiver as night fully took hold- Athos had belayed a request to stop and camp for a night, preferring to just move through the darkness in favour of getting back home sooner. He was starting to regret his decision now his backside started to go numb...

Aramis tried- and failed- to withold a startled yelp as d'Artagnan snored so loudly next to him that he woke himself up- the young man looked round, and even in the darkness Porthos could see his cheeks redden a little as he looked round to see Aramis clutching his chest next to him.

'Don't do that!' The older man scolded, breathing hard as the panic left him.

D'Artagnan quirked an eyebrow, before realising with a thrill of horror that he had spit on his chin- he wiped it off quickly, muttering under his breath. 'Sorry...'

'And if you ever moan about any of us snoring when we camp for the night I'm going to tack you to the nearest tree and use you for target practice!' Aramis added with a snort, before moving his horse a little bit forwards to give the younger man some space.

'I do not snore!'

'No, not much!' Aramis snorted, quirking an eyebrow too as d'Artagnan shook his head. 'Like a horn, my friend. Like a horn.'

'Lies, absolute lies...' D'Artagnan replied, shaking his head to get rid of some of the tiredness that had crept up on him like a cloud. Aramis chuckled to himself as the conversation naturally petered out, and soon they were riding in a companionable silence along the road, the only men for at least a mile around. Or so they thought.

The first man walked straight into the road, stopping dead in front of Athos' horse with a dazed, open expression on his face- Athos barely managed to stop his horse before it walked right into him; the animal whinnied in alarm and stepped backwards, leaving Athos to steady her.

'Can we help you?' He asked, guessing the man was in trouble and had seen their blue cloaks- even out of Paris their cloaks came with a reputation.

The man said nothing; he merely looked up at them,- he looked disheveled, uncared for, but looked to be at least forty years old. Old enough to know not to walk in front of a large horse, that was for sure.

'Hey!' Aramis added, frowning. 'Are you alright, sir?'

'I need you all to get off your horses.' The man's words were stark, but held no threat to them.

'You what?' Porthos asked, barking out a short laugh. 'Whys that then?'

'Please. Just get down.'

'Tell us why and we might.'

The man reached into his jacket and pulled out a large revolver. 'I'm afraid I have to insist. Get off your horses.'

Aramis snorted out a little laugh as he turned to Athos- this lone man thought he could just simply order them to get off their horses? 'You do know who we are?' He asked, putting his hands up a little to show he was no threat as the man turned the gun on him.

'I do- get off your horses and we can talk.'

'Sir, we are not going to get off- we will be lenient this time due to the lateness of the hour. Do this again and you will find yourself in front of a judge for threatening the musketeer regiment.' Athos said, the words sliding off his tongue.

The man snorted, but held still, the gun trained on them. 'I'm not going to ask again.'

'And neither am I.'

'This will get nasty if you don't comply.'

'Oh yeah? With you and what army?' Porthos challenged, getting sick of the games now.

It was if the man had been waiting for that very question. He stepped backwards a little, a small smirk on his face as the musketeers heard footfalls coming at them from all sides. 'This army.'

Another man joined him, and was soon followed by three more. 'Now, we won't ask again- off, now!'

Aramis sighed, putting his hands up higher along with the others as a barrage of guns were drawn and aimed at them. 'Alright.' He said, arching an eyebrow at Athos as he stepped off his horse.

'I'm not getting my head shot off for my horse!' He muttered, before turning to the men. 'That's what you want, I'm guessing?'

The man who had joined him gave a small smile. 'Not quite.' He said, pointing the gun at Aramis, squarely between the eyes. 'On your knees- and if you three don't get off your horses in the next three seconds I will shoot his head off!' He added as Aramis sighed tiredly and sank down onto the dirt path.

The others quickly dismounted, their arms above their heads. 'You don't have to do this- we have little money on us, but we can-' Athos growled as he was roughly pulled forwards by his jerkin and thrown to the ground next to Aramis.

'Stop talking!' The man growled, watching as d'Artagnan and Porthos did the same- soon they were all kneeling in front of their horses, dark expressions on each of their faces.

'You're musketeers, right?' The other man asked, looking over the blue cloaks on their backs.

'No, we're farmers.' Aramis quipped, not taking the situation entirely seriously- he was soon forced to reevaluate his gameplan when a fist connected to his jaw, followed by a swift kick to the ribs. He fell hard on his side, breathing raggedly as Athos threw himself in front of him, arms out.

'Leave him be!' He growled, eyes flashing as he was dragged upright by his hair, followed by Aramis. 'Tell us what you want, dammit!' He added, looking his friend over as Aramis heaved out a breath, sniffing up blood from his nose.

'If you are musketeers, you are worth more alive than dead...' The man spoke more to himself than anyone else. He looked between them- d'Artagnan and Porthos looked up at him darkly, their hands now by their sides, whilst Athos was still turned to Aramis, concern in his eyes as blood dribbled down his chin and into his uniform.

'We'll take...you.' He said, pointing a stubby, dirty finger at d'Artagnan- the young man snorted as Porthos gave a small laugh, shaking his head. 'Not a chance mate.' He said, eyes dark.

'We'll see,' the man said, before turning to Athos. 'And you.' He added, mouth curled in distaste. 'You'll both do nicely.'

'You have no hope in hell- I may have been lenient before, but not this time.' Athos growled, reaching for his blade or gun. Quicker than could be deemed possible, the man lurched forwards and took hold of Aramis' shoulder, heaving him upwards. Aramis allowed himself to be hauled to his feet, but no further did his dragging go- he wheeled around despite the pain in his ribs and landed the man a blow to the temple, felling him with a single punch. He growled as the coldness of a gun was jammed against his own temple seconds later.

'Nice try.' The man who had first stopped them said, mouth curled in anger. A strong arm was placed around his chest and he was pulled to the man's side roughly.

'You two-' he muttered, looking from d'Artagnan to Athos, who had stayed kneeling for fear of Aramis being shot should they move. 'On your feet, now.'

'You're going to regret this...' Athos promised, voice dark as Aramis tried to free himself- he stopped as the gun was pressed ever harder into his temple.

'Maybe, maybe not.' The man replied, before he moved his head to the men who had stayed in the shadows behind them. 'Bind their hands.'

D'Artagnan snorted again, looking to Athos to see what their leader was going to do. 'You seriously think we're going to just let you take us without a fight?'

'You know what? Yes, I do.' The man said, before he lifted his hand up- seconds later a gunshot echoed around the silent forest and the musketeers watched as Aramis buckled with a cry of pain- the man heaved him upright, letting them see blood slowly soaking through his uniform from a wound on his shoulder.

'Next time it'll be fatal.' He promised, before releasing Aramis and letting him drop to the floor. 'If you don't come with us now we'll just keep shooting until he bleeds to death.'

'What do you want from us?!' D'Artagnan cried as he followed Athos' lead and stepped forwards, eyes wide and angry. 'Just tell us!'

'All in good time.' The man said, eyes dark as Athos bent and exchanged words with Aramis- the other man pressed his hand onto the wound with a wince, before Porthos stood, eyes dark and fists up.

'I mean it, big'un- one move and I'll get his head!' The man threatened, finger still poised on the trigger, anticipating the larger man's movements.

Porthos didn't say anything; he merely growled and bent towards Aramis too, concern in his eyes.

'Now, if you'd like to come with us.' The man said, looking to d'Artagnan and Athos. The two men exchanged glances and reluctantly stepped forwards. 'If we go, you leave these two alone, understand?' Athos said, voice laced with anger. 'Give me your word.'

'You have it.' The man promised, stepping aside to let two men come forwards from somewhere behind them. They bound their hands thickly with rope, and without a second's glance to Porthos and Aramis, they were pushed hard in the backs, urging them forwards and away.

'You're going to regret this!' Athos growled again, meaning every word as they were pushed along- he tried to turn his head back to see whether Aramis was alright.

He didn't even get the chance to- seconds later he cried out as d'Artagnan was roughly pulled aside and punched hard in the face; his unconscious form hit the leaf-strewn forest floor with a thump. As he struggled Athos was struck in the head by the stock of a gun- the last thing he saw before the darkness claimed him was a rough bag being thrown over his head, before his world went hazy and black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued....  
> Next chapter up soon!  
> Thanks for reading! x


	21. T is for Threats (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second part of T is for Threats.....

Aramis threw himself forwards as Athos let out a small yelp of pain before he fell to the floor- tears sprang in his eyes as he scrabbled at the ground; the pain erupting from the gunshot wound in his shoulder forced him to stop. 'Porthos!' He cried, looking to his friend as Porthos looked ahead, face ashen as he seemed to only stare into the forest ahead of them. 'Do something!'

Unbeknownst to Aramis, Porthos was not merely staring into the forest as Athos and d'Artagnan, suddenly hooded, were dragged away. He was looking to the side, at the man who had shot his friend; his revolver was out once more, at a good distance to do some real damage should he shoot- the gun was once again aimed at Aramis, who was breathing hard and clutching at his bleeding shoulder. 'They'll be alright.' He said, his brain a fuzz of anger, desperation and frustration despite his words - his hands itched to act, his feet ached to run to the man and beat the living pulp out of him... All he could do was watch as the man grinned across at them and began to walk backwards, revolver aimed at Aramis still.

'If you follow us, I'll kill them!' He shouted out, before disappearing into the shadows, leaving the two men alone.

'We..have to...do something...' Aramis groaned out, face white in the light of the moon. 'Can't...leave...them...'

'We're not going to, but you're going to bleed to death if we don't get you help soon.' Porthos replied as he stood, shaking with anger.

'I'll be fine...we need-'

'Don't play the hero, 'Mis...we don't need you to become a martyr just yet.' He interjected, casting a worried eye on Aramis' shoulder. He quickly pulled a piece of cloth from the pack on his horse and shoved it into the wound. Aramis hissed out a breath, but leaned against Porthos' legs as the bigger man scanned the forest.

'They went north...' He said aloud, worry now spearing his chest. 'There's nothing but fields and farmland out that way.'

'If there's...farmland...' Aramis groaned as he gingerly pulled himself upwards and onto his feet. 'There's got to be a farm.'

Porthos nodded in agreement. 'There's hundreds of farms though...'

'Then we search every one.' Aramis countered, gritting his teeth against the pain.

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Athos woke from a hazy state of unconsciousness with a throbbing headache and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. He lifted his head a little, groaning with the exertion of moving tired muscles; he opened bleary eyes, scanning the low stone room that was full of flickering candles. The wax was near to their end, and through the scant light he could make out the bowed figure of his comrade, still unconscious from the blow that had led to their predicament.

His dark hair was dangling over his face so he couldn't see what state he was in- as he was about to open his mouth to speak the door opened and another figure strode in, eyes flashing with malice even in the low light of the room, flanked by two bigger men on either side of him. Athos strained his arms as the man walked to a small window, peering out at the black night sky- his hands had now been bound behind him and were attached to some sort of hook, holding him fast to a cold stone wall; he could feel the wetness of it as he brushed his hands against it.

He licked his dry lips as the man still stared intently out, not saying a word. 'What do you want from us?' He finally said, casting an eye back to d'Artagnan, who still did not stir. 'I told you we do not have money.'

'Do you know what it is like, to live in squalor?' The man said, voice barely more than a whisper as he turned to face him. 'In filth?' The tone, although spoken softly, was laced with threats.

'I know not of your situation, but-'

'No, you don't. You don't know how it is like to wake with an empty stomach, knowing you will go to bed that evening with it still empty. You don't know how it is to console starving children, to shoot emaciated animals, to beg and plead at church for alms to survive each day.' The man continued, voice now raising. He fisted the crucifix at his neck, as if pulling the grace of god to him. 'If not for my faith we would have succumbed by now...' He whispered, before looking Athos dead in the eyes. 'I do not just want money- I want the tools to save my family!'

'You don't need to do it in this way!' Athos cried, straining again- he understood this man's plight, although he could not totally empathise. His past had served him well, but he had been humbled and broken as anyone once he'd lost it all. 'You could have come to Paris- the King could have-'

'The King?' The man's voice was high with incredulity and sarcasm. 'That boy king? The useless, pompous, arrogant waste of breath?'

Athos would have told him to have more respect, but on one hand he wasn't lying, and on the other he'd rather not argue whilst he was bound to a wall and the man held a gun. 'Let us help.' He said instead, trying to maintain a semblance of calmness in his voice. 'Please.'

'But you're already helping,' the man said with a grotesque smile, before crossing over to d'Artagnan- the young man groaned as the man lifted his head up by a tuft of hair before smacking his cheek to wake him up. 'We thought you were nobles crossing the forest to Paris- but musketeers...the King will pay a pretty price to have you returned to the city unharmed.' He said as d'Artagnan groggily awoke, wincing from a pain in his head.

'A ransom?' Athos muttered, feeling a snort building up. 'There are many of us. We will not be missed.' He bluffed, knowing full well that Treville would be sending out search parties if they did not turn up at first morning light. 'We are indispensable commodities.' He added.

'Is that so?' The man said, before bringing a blade out of his pocket. Athos tried to pull himself forwards as he advanced on d'Artagnan. 'What are you doing?' He growled, groaning as the rope bit into his wrists. 'He has nothing to do with this.'

'He's a musketeer, isn't he?' The man turned to d'Artagnan, who looked up with angry eyes. 'You are a musketeer?'

D'Artagnan said nothing; he wasn't going to give this thug what he wanted. The man chuckled darkly, shrugging. 'No matter- as long as we keep you in one piece, we can have a little fun, can't we?'

Athos swore under his breath. He had to distract them somehow, he had to do something... 'Have you sent Paris a message saying we're here?' He asked, hoping to catch him out, to buy a little time.

The man stepped back at that, cocking his head. 'I'm not stupid. Of course I have- they have three hours to give in to our demands, or we send them your heads.'

'Ah.' Athos muttered, a sick feeling sinking into his stomach. 'You're efficient, I'll give you that...' He whispered.

'When you survive on dry bread and berries you have to be,' the man retorted darkly. He looked back at d'Artagnan, who looked up at him as he came forwards. 'You look noble.' He said, yellow teeth bared as d'Artagnan snorted.

'I wish,' he said, arching an eyebrow. 'I was a farm boy, from a poor family.'

'You're lying.' The man argued, voice rising. 'I can spot nobility in a man's face.'

'Then your eyes deceive you, I assure you.'

'Listen here you little- the man began, before the door opened and light was thrown on the scene. Another man walked in, dressed in black. 'Brother, do not insult our guests.' The man spoke with a rough voice, placing a strong arm on the other man's shoulder and squeezing so hard the man winced and hissed out a pained breath. 'You're wanted upstairs. Now.'

The first man grumbled and did as he was bade, passing the blade to his brother before he left with the other two men. Seconds later the door was closed again, leaving the new man quite alone with the musketeers.

'I apologise for my brother- he is sick from lack of food. It goes to your head after a while you see.' He said. His voice held more malice that his brother's, and it gave even Athos chills. He was tall, not too muscly, but he had a presence about him that meant danger. He knew he couldn't let him get much leeway if they wanted to get out of this in one piece..

'I was explaining to your brother that-' the blow came out of nowhere, and Athos didn't even get a chance to move out of the way before his nose exploded in pain and he felt warm blood trickling down his chin.

'You speak when spoken to. I call the shots- you listen!' He grunted, massaging his knuckles as Athos sank back, moving his mouth around to see if his nose was broken.

'You people, thinking you can fix the problem of the poor!' He continued, face a picture of fury.

'You have us wrong!' Athos growled, feeling anger above his pain. 'We are musketeers and you will be punished for what you have done here!'

He knew he had said the wrong thing when the man gave a low chuckle and stepped back, brandishing the blade. 'How will they know where to find you?' He asked, cocking his head. 'It'll take a long time to find two bodies out in the forest.'

Athos didn't rise to it, although his heart had started to race. The man wasn't finished, however- he turned to d'Artagnan and brandished the blade- with a short cut he released the younger man from the wall, although the binds still fixed his hands together.

'You know, we were intending to sell you back to your bosses for money...but why waste good meat?' He grinned, breaking into a yellowed smile as d'Artagnan looked up instinctively with an expression of horror in his eyes. 'Desperate times.' He added in a whisper, now looking the young man up and down with almost a longing look in his eyes. 'Desperate measures.'

'If you touch one hair on his head I swear you will live to regret it.' Athos growled out, eyes full of malice. The threat of ransom, even of torture, was easy to overcome with a little effort, but the threat of cannibalism?

'You mean like this?' The man asked mock innocently, grasping a few hairs on the top of d'Artagnan's head and jerking upwards, pulling them out at the roots. He grinned as Athos pulled at his ties once more, breathing through gathering adrenaline. 'Leave him.' He spat. The boy was too young, too green for this kind of thing. 'If you need someone for your sick games then take me!'

'Athos..' D'Artagnan whispered, but the man shook him hard to tell him to be quiet.

'Games?' He said, the word a shot of anger. 'You think this a mere game?' He grinned again, before shoving the young man to the floor and delivering a kick to his ribs.

'No, leave him!' Athos shouted, raising his voice in the hope someone could hear him. 'D'artagnan!' He yelled as more blows rained down on the Gascon. He watched as he curled into himself, grunting out each breath as the man pummelled him with his feet. 'This is no game!' The man finally yelled, breathing heavily himself as he stopped his tirade. 'We have suffered too long now!'

'There are other ways!' Athos shouted, although now he knew none of his words could make a difference.

'You think we have not tried?!' The man spat, eyes now manic. 'We must make our own changes- and if this is the only way...then so be it.'

He turned away for a split second to look at Athos- that was all it took. D'Artagnan scrambled to his feet and ran at the man, knocking him off his feet and landing on top of him- his ribs protested but he ignored them as he pulled himself to the man's head and delivered a double fisted blow to his head before a counter attack could happen. There was silence as the man fell limply to the floor, although whether dead or alive, neither of them knew. D'Artagnan stood back on shaky legs, wincing in sudden pain. 'What a creep.' He finally said, arching an eyebrow. He turned to Athos, looking him over to see the extent of his injuries. He doffed his head to him, wincing on his behalf. 'Nice bruise.' He said drily, before looking on the floor for the blade.

'Are you alright?' Athos asked, conscious that someone must have heard the commotion. 'You took a hell of a beating, lad.'

'Well if it saved me being cooked up for dinner, I'll take a little rib pain.' D'Artagnan muttered, kicking the blade closer to Athos. 'How are we going to do this?'

Athos snorted at their predicament, but knew they had to be quick. 'Well it would have been helpful if your hands were bound in front of you but-'

'Hang on..' D'Artagnan muttered, before displaying an amazing display of contortionism that allowed his arms to go over his head and settle in front of him.

'Well, that's a talent.' Athos allowed, holding back a smile.

'Thanks, I used to freak my father out a lot when growing up...' D'Artagnan grinned, now working quickly to grasp the blade and walk closer to Athos.

'Just try not to stab me.' The older man muttered, before standing still as d'Artagnan went about sawing the thick rope.

A commotion upstairs told them that they were about to be disturbed. 'Quickly!' He hissed, before feeling the sweet release on his wrists and the rope loosened. 'Quick, go and stand by the wall, I don't have time to untie you-'

'But-'

'Now!' Just as d'Artagnan grudgingly did as he was told the door crashed open and the man from before came into the room,eyes wide as saucers as he took in the scene.

'What...?' His eyes settled on d'Artagnan, who was standing by the window and not where he had been tied up. 'You little-' he roared, dashing across the room, arms raised. Athos allowed him to get a little further before launching himself at him and pulling him away. The man was ready, however, and Athos grunted in pain as a blow landed on his jaw and nearly sent him spinning to the floor.

Another blow made his ears ring, and he felt a sudden lurch in his stomach as the man used his weight to throw him to the stone floor, where he straddled him and punched him relentlessly. D'Artagnan rushed forwards just as the man had his hands around Athos' throat, but he couldn't do much bar kick him in the side to get him off.

Athos was just fading into unconsciousness when the man was suddenly pushed off him and thrown across the floor. As he scrambled up he heard the sound of a musket being drawn- 'I'd stay still if I were you.' A very familiar, very angry voice said.

'Porthos...' Athos whispered through bloody lips. He felt his eye begin to swell and his jaw was already blooming in pain. Porthos knelt and put a hand on his shoulder. 'Stay still, you're alright...' He whispered, eyes angry as he surveyed the scene.

Haggard breathing could soon be heard, and d'Artagnan turned to find Aramis in the doorway, brandishing his gun. He swore loudly as he too took in the scene in front of him.

'See, I told you they'd be in the first farm we'd come across!' He said, leaning on Porthos' arm. Athos could see his arm was bandaged,for his cloak was gone and has been replaced by a stranger's woollen coat. 'Aramis...you...ok?' He groaned out from the floor as he started to stand up.

'Me? My friend it is you we need to worry about now.' Aramis muttered with concerned eyes as Porthos helped Athos up the rest of the way.

D'Artagnan stepped forwards, massaging his ribs now. 'What about the ones in the other room?'

'Taken care of.' Aramis replied. 'We managed to send a rider from a nearby village to the city- this lot will be dealt with accordingly.'

'At least we got you two back though.' Porthos added as he put an arm around Athos as he faltered a little as he began to walk forwards.

'Never...doubted you for a...second...' Athos said before he attempted to smile- the pain in his face made him regret it. 'Thank you.'

'Athos you've never thanked us for saving your skin before, so don't start now.' Aramis smiled, wincing himself as his shoulder protested at a sudden movement. 'It sounds most unnatural.'

Quickly they moved from the cellar to the main part of the farmhouse- the men that had ambushed them were all bound in a pile and gagged.

'Come on, let's get out of here.' Porthos grunted, barely giving them a glance as he led them to the door. 'The authorities will be here soon and we have more pressing matters.' He added, looking at Athos and Aramis. The others nodded their agreement and made for the door- their horses greeted them where Aramis and Porthos had tied them.

'Come on then, home awaits.' Aramis said as he mounted with a little difficulty. Soon they were heading back to Paris, each trying to forget the night's events- they were each sure it'd take a little while.


	22. U is for Unconscious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> U is for Unconscious.............

'Have you got an axe?'

'I don't believe we're equipped with axes nowadays, Porthos.'

'Shame.'

'...Why?'

'I was going to see how easy it would be to chop my foot off- it's so numb with cold I bet I wouldn't feel it!' Porthos replied with a snort, grinning across at Aramis as he laughed too.

'We've only been out here three hours,' he replied, rubbing his gloved hands together and puffing out steam from his mouth. 'Much too early to go in.'

Porthos looked across at the banquet hall they were stood outside, eyes casting a longing look at the roaring fire and the guests milling around for the Queen's birthday ball. They had drawn the short straw and were waiting outside for the guests, directing them on where to go and checking their invitations.

The autumn night was drizzly and dank; dark clouds floated miserably overhead, and Aramis' hair was stuck flat to his head as he waved people through and checked their beautifully designed scrolls that held their invitations. Each one he opened gave him a small pang of sadness, for the scent that wafted from them was unmistakable- the Queen has obviously spritzed a little perfume on them as a small personal touch. Pushing away his thoughts he let each one through, standing beside Porthos as the night got wetter and more miserable.

'Hopefully someone will be out soon to give us something hot to eat...' Porthos grumbled,wiping the rain from his face with a sigh.

'I sincerely doubt that,' Aramis replied, shuddering in the cold. 'The King likes us to be there for him when he needs us, but at any other time he'd rather just pretend we aren't here.'

Porthos nodded in agreement as the latecomers hurried their way through the front lawns, tottering down the cobbled paths with apologetic looks on their faces.

They waved them through and consigned themselves to an evening of playing I- spy as they periodically took a walk through the grounds to pass the time.

'I spy with my little eye...something beginning with...b.'

'Bush.'

'Damn you Porthos!' Aramis grumbled, cursing his friend. 'Your turn.'

'I spy with my little eye...something beginning with S.'

'Street?'

'Nope.'

'Oh. Um...steps?'

'Guess again.'

'Uhh...' Aramis peered around in the darkness. 'I give up, mon ami.'

'Stars!'

'Merde!' Aramis cursed, rolling his eyes. 'You're turn again.'

'Alright...I spy with my little eye...something beginning with...t.' Porthos replied, intending it to be 'tree.' They turned with surprise, however, as a commotion sounded at the door- they heard Athos shouting at someone. Aramis looked at Porthos and grinned. 'Trouble?'

'Close enough.' He replied, and the two of them immediately hurried over.

They got there in time to see Athos dragging a rather large drunken fellow out of the door, eyebrows creased together. 'You've had enough, sir...' He was telling him as the man tried to fight him off.

'He's a cheap night out.' Aramis said, arching an eyebrow as the man wobbled, glaring at them all.

'The captain said it would be best if our friend here didn't disturb the royal couple any more,' Athos muttered in reply, letting go of the man and standing back as he teetered.

'Come on then- I can take you all!' The man slurred, eyes slightly unfocused as he put his fists up.

'I'm sure you can sir,' Athos said drily, before turning to Aramis. 'Treville says to escort him from the palace and just see him on his route home.'

'You mean babysit?'

'Damage control, is more like it,' Athos replied, sighing. 'He almost managed to get to the Queen to give her a "birthday kiss" before d'Artagnan apprehended him.'

'The Queen?' Aramis was instantly alert. 'Is she alright?'

'Of course. No harm came to her, 'Mis.' Athos replied, before turning to the man. 'These men will take you home and you are not to return, is that clear?'

'Who do you think you're talking to, you jumped up little shit?'

'If you do return tonight these men will arrest you and you will spend a considerable amount of time in jail,' Athos replied, trying not to smirk. 'Do you understand me?'

'Piss off.'

'Excellent.' Athos turned to Aramis again as Porthos stood next to the man. 'Good luck.'

'Thanks very much...' Aramis replied darkly. He took one last look at the palace, hoping to catch a glimpse of Anne. When he didn't he nodded at Athos and walked to the other side of the drunk man, with Porthos on his other side.

'So, you got a little too merry I see?' He said with a small smile, hoping to get him to be a little friendlier.

'I don't speak to jumped up streaks of piss.'

'Ouch,' Aramis grinned, letting the insult fly over him. 'What have I ever done to you?'

'Fils de pute!' The man spat out, suddenly stopping and fronting up to Aramis, drunken bravado in his eyes.

'Steady now sir!' Aramis said warningly- he was always touchy about insults to his mother, and didn't allow anyone to cast a slur on her. 'Mind your tongue and we'll get along better, alright?'

'Va te faire foutre!'

'Charming...' Porthos muttered from his other side, pulling the man roughly upright as he stumbled on a loose stone. 'Its amazing how drink loosens the tongue,ain't it?'

'Isn't it just.' Aramis agreed, hoping they were nearing the man's street. 'Where to now?'

The man pointedly ignored him, so Aramis have his shoulder a little shake, unwilling to be strung along by his little game any longer- the man turned suddenly, eyes full of drunken anger; he grasped Aramis by the lapels of his coat and pushed him away. Aramis' eyes widened as he stumbled down a small step, before crashing rather unceremoniously on his backside, hissing out a breath as he landed awkwardly.

Porthos grappled with the man as he tried to make a run for it- 'I'm arresting you for attacking a musketeer!' He growled, linking his arms around his chest as the man tried to throw himself out of his grasp. This only seemed to antagonise the man more, and he yelled out at the top of his lungs a string of drunken gobbledygook as he tried to heave his way from Porthos' strong grip- he finally managed to get his way as he pulled himself forwards before launching his head backwards and cracking it into Porthos' face.

The musketeer yelped out in pain as his nose exploded in agony and instinctively released the man to clutch at his face- the man followed this by a swift knee to his stomach, before casting one more blow at the fallen musketeer with a boot to the head, knocking him out in the process.

Aramis scrabbled up as the man lurched away- he let him go as he saw the extent of Porthos' injuries. He could deal with that bastard later; he reached Porthos with wide eyes, scanning his face with horror in his stomach.

'Porthos! Porthos wake up!' He muttered as he saw his friend was unconscious from the blows. 'Porthos I need you to wake up!'

He reached into his cloak's deep pockets and pulled out some fresh cloth he always had in there, along with a small vial of smelling salts he kept just for this sort of occasion.

'Porthos! Come on, wake up for me..' He muttered as he undid the vial. He wafted it over the bigger man's nostrils, relief hitting him as he took it in and groggily woke up, nose crinkled.

'Oh, thank God...' Aramis whispered, putting the cloth on his nose as he helped Porthos to sit up. 'Thought I'd have to drag you all the way home,' he added, wincing for his friend as Porthos closed his eyes and hissed in pain.

'I dink he broke me dose...'

'Yeah, looks like it.'

'Darstard.'

'Yeah.'

'Where'd he bo?'

'Don't know, I was too worried about you to care very much.'

'Oh. Did he 'urt you?'

'Me? Nah, I'm fine as usual.' Aramis smiled a little sadly, before holding out a hand. 'Coming up?'

'Yeah...holb on..' Porthos grunted, wiping blood from his face as he gingerly took the cloth off. He accepted the proffered hand and stood up, feeling a little lightheaded.

'Come on, let's get you to a matron or something, you need that checked.'

'What about da balace?'

'What about it?'

'They'b be one busketeer short.'

'And? We can manage, Porthos- you need that mug of yours checked out.'

'I buess...'

'No guessing about it, come on- she might still be awake at this time.'

'Obay.'

Aramis tried hard not to smile now he knew Porthos was moderately ok- he put an arm around him as they started walking in the direction of their matron's house.

'Hey Porthos?'

'What?'

'You want to play some I-Spy?'

'Biss off, Aramis...'


	23. V is for Ventriloquist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> V is for Ventriloquist.....

Aramis would never admit to having any sort of fear, not even a small one. Hell, he was a Musketeer, a regiment iconic in standing and strength, showing loyalty, brevity and unwavering bravery.

He had gone through a childhood without the usual notions of fear- not of the dark, not of death (for that came much later in life) not even of his parents leaving him. He was a well-adjusted man, proud of his accomplishments and personal strength.

So why was he considering running from the room he and his fellow musketeers found themselves in?

Porthos looked up at him as they entered, noting at once how his whole being had changed from confidence to little more than fright. 'What's up?' he asked, looking at his wide eyes. 'Aramis?'

'Hm? Nothing, nothing….' Aramis replied uneasily, taking a furtive look around the darkened room- and at the hundreds of little eyes staring out at them from the walls and tables.

They had been assigned to collect some money from a toy-maker that had been commissioned to design some toys for Palace. For Louis' enjoyment, Athos had overheard the Captain mutter tersely to himself as they had left the room.

The toy maker had done his job, but had quite forgotten the small sum he was supposed to give the King to have his work shown off to the courtiers as they came to see them….a most absurd tax, Aramis had mused, but they weren't to question their orders.

The night had set in as they rode to his small village to claim the expense, and now they were hunting for the man, their worry piqued as they found the door unlocked.

'Monsieur Durand?' Athos called out, their hands already at their blades.

Aramis had been assigned another mission, alone, for the entirety of the toy-maker's visit and show, so had not known what kind of toy the man had been making…now he was wishing he was back in Paris, none the wiser.

'Are you sure you're ok?' d'Artagnan muttered as Aramis audibly swallowed, stepping back against the wall. The eyes were staring right at him, he was sure of it. He felt his pulse quicken and his breathing deepen- he cursed himself but couldn't help it.

'It's…unnatural…' he whispered, shaking his head as he felt his cheeks go a little pink. 'Not right….'

Athos looked across at him, a small smile on his lips. 'What, these?' he asked innocently, pulling one from the shelf. The doll was quite big, with a wooden head with a clever contraption that allowed the person holding it to make it 'talk' by putting their hand into it and moving it up and down. 'What even is it?' he added. He too had been absent at the unveiling of these to the King.

'It's a ven- ventriloquist doll….' Aramis stuttered, now cursing his legs, which had now decided to turn into jelly. 'Horrible things.'

'Why? I've never seen one before….' d'Artagnan asked, picking one up and making it move around- as he put it next to Aramis the older musketeer let out an alarmed yelp and darted behind Porthos, who snorted.

'I have!' he said, voice muffled as he hid behind the bigger man. Memories were slowly attaching themselves to the fear. 'My Uncle had one, and he came to tea one day when I was five years old,' he started, wiping sweaty hands on his breeches as he tentatively came out from behind his friend.

'I never really liked my Uncle….he smelt of cheese and mud all the time…' he added, giving Athos a look as the other man stifled a snort. 'He did! Anyway, one day he brought one of those….things…. and he…he made it bite my nose.' He turned redder still as his three friends tried their best to stop their surprised laughter.

'It hurt! And then he said that it would tell me it was sorry in its own time- so he put it on my bedside table and angled it towards me so it watched me sleep.' Aramis shuddered as the memory came back to him. 'When I finally went to sleep I had nightmares- and in the night my Uncle put it on my bed, so when I woke up I'd think it had moved!'

'Aw, bless you!' Athos grinned, shaking his head at the mental image of a petrified Aramis, confused about how the doll had got there. 'And you were only five?'

'Yes. My Father forbade my Uncle to ever bring it again, and I had to sleep with my bed next to a wall until I was twelve.'

Porthos snorted out a laugh and clapped Aramis on the shoulder. 'Now I know what to get you for your birthday!' he teased, laughing harder as Aramis gave him a withering look.

'I will never speak to you again, you realise that?' he countered, although he felt better for people making light of it.

'Come on, let's find Monsieur Durand and get this over with…' Athos muttered, and they continued their search for the man. A few minutes passed in silence as they searched the workroom and the shop front- Aramis scuttled around the edges, preffering to look under the desks and tables than be on the same eye-line of the dolls.

'He's not here,' he finally said, shrugging. 'Maybe he has a house or another abode?'

'Maybe-' Athos began, but just then a door they had not seen suddenly opened, throwing orange candlelight onto the darkened shop floor. They looked as an immense shadow appeared as the door banged onto the opposite wall- Aramis felt his heart fly into his mouth as a large, obviously wooden, doll came into view. 'No, no no….' he whispered under his breath, eyes wide as the doll seemed to move of its own accord through the doorway, its walk ungainly and heavy. As it came closer, he knew he had to move.

'I'll just go and see if the horses are alright…' he muttered, before slowly backing away, eyes still on the moving doll. 'You can deal with this, can't you gents?' he added, before opening the door and darting outside.

Athos didn't even look round- just as he got his sword out (in case it was a nightmare filled demon doll) the man carrying the large plaything suddenly put his head to the side. 'What is the meaning of this?!' he asked, putting the life-size doll on the nearest table. 'Who are you?!'

'Monsieur Durand?'

'Yes?'

'We are Musketeers, and we have been sent to collect some money from you.' Athos continued, relief filtering though him- as the man collected his thoughts they each cast Aramis a grin as they saw him outside, a worried look on his face. Oh, it would be a while before they let him forget this…..


	24. W is for Water Cure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> W is for Water Cure.....warning for graphic torture (but no character death)  
> It's quite a long one, but I hope you like it!  
> x

'I told you asking for directions would be a bad idea.' Porthos deadpanned quietly as he and the others were shoved to their knees, their hands bound behind them. Aramis snorted at that, but a bad feeling was slowly overcoming him. He looked across to Athos and d'Artagnan, who had been forced to their knees on Porthos' left hand side.

A small rise of the eyebrows told him that they were ok- no words needed to be exchanged. How foolish that they were to come about a band of raiders and turncoats not even a mile from the city walls.

He knew they were turncoats for he recognised a few of the men in the camp they were now in; once fine men of good regard and standing , but now so disillusioned with the government and of the King that they had chosen exile rather than do what was right. In a way he rather respected their gall- in another way he was almost scared...men without laws were laws unto themselves.

They seemed at first glance to be leaderless, a melee of souls pounding the land getting what they could- the men who had ambushed them had been well armed and well versed in the goings-on at the palace; Aramis thought whoever had taught them had to be quite a person of standing.

Athos rolled his neck as his knees crushed small rocks, making him wince. 'So what's to become of us now then?' He asked, not entirely worried.

They would have easily fought off the masked raiders, had it not been for the knife pressed to d'Artagnan's neck when they had refused to accompany them further into the forest. Athos could see dried blood on the small cut that had been dug into the soft flesh of his neck before they had finally given in to the demands.

The men gathered around them smiled, but Aramis could tell none of them would lead any sort of talk or negotiations- they parted seconds later, revealing the man who would speak to them. His heart sank when he saw who it was.

'Corbin,' he whispered darkly, eyeing up the man swaggering towards them, an evil glint in his eyes and an easy smile on his lips. He wore a black leather coat with ripped breeches and scuffed leather shoes. His face was slim yet bore signs of having lived well- there was a signet ring on his finger which gleamed red in the dappled sunlight of the forest.

'Well well well...what have we got here then?' He grinned, rubbing his hands together. 'Athos, Porthos, Aramis...' He counted, not caring about the dark looks he got in return. He turned to d'Artagnan, 'not seen you before.' He said, cocking his head to the side.

'A newbie?' He asked the other three, and when none of them reciprocated he merely shrugged. 'Never mind.' He stepped backwards, sighing happily. 'Gents. It's been a while, hasn't it?'

'Not long enough.' Athos growled out, which Porthos agreed with a snort. 'Thought you'd gone abroad.'

'Nah, I'm having too much fun here.' Corbin replied, a wolfish smile on his lips. He turned back to d'Artagnan, who looked up at him darkly. 'I should probably introduce myself, shouldn't I?'

'Makes no difference to me.' D'Artagnan growled, an intense dislike for this man he had never met growing with every passing second.

'Ah.' Corbin smiled, before stepping closer and drawing his fist back. D'Artagnan groaned out as he was thrown backwards by the punch- his bound hands meant he couldn't save himself so his back smacked heavily on the ground, winding him. He was roughly pulled up by his lapels, only to come face to face with Corbin as he dragged him up. 'You can speak a little nicer to me you jumped up streak of piss!' He spat, eyes suddenly bulging with anger.

'You-' he shot at Aramis, who looked at him with barely concealed hatred. 'Tell him who I am.'

'I'm not your personal announcer.' Aramis growled, unwilling to play games. He growled low in his throat as d'Artagnan was pulled to his feet and a musket was placed next to his head.

'Tell him, or I blow his brains out!'

'Put him back down and I will then!'

'Fine.' Corbin spat, shoving the younger man to the floor, where he landed in a heap on the dirt.

Aramis waited until he had dragged himself back into a kneeling position before he started, taking a deep breath as he did so. 'D'artagnan, this man is Corbin Perez-'

'And tell him what I used to do.'

'Do you want me to tell him or not?' Aramis spat, anger pulsating in his head. 'Shut up and I will.' He added, before completely ignoring the look on Corbin's face as he once again turned to d'Artagnan. 'Once upon a time he worked at the palace.' His voice was dark as d'Artagnan quirked an eyebrow. 'The dungeons and jail, specifically. He was, for want of a better phrase, the chief torturer for the King. He tortured hundreds, maybe thousands of people- that is before he decided to steal from the King and found himself out of Paris, on pain of death if he were to return.' He turned back to Corbin, who was actually smiling as if he were being heaped with praise. 'That was what happened, wasn't it?' He asked, 'because I had better things to do with my time than worry about stupid little whelps like you th-' the backhanded slap echoed around the small forest.

Athos growled low in his throat as Aramis was cast to the side, yet he didn't fall. His lip had split but he still looked up at Corbin, no fear in his eyes. 'Anything else you want me to say?' He asked , eyebrow quirked.

'No.' Corbin remarked, before looking to the group as a whole. 'So. What are we going to do about four wickle musketeers that have wandered into dangerous ground?' He asked, grinning sardonically.

'Nothing, because you're going to let us go.' Athos replied, looking straight ahead. Corbin threw out a laugh as he came to stand opposite him. 'What?'

'You heard me- you're going to let us go.' Athos finally looked up at him. 'We are musketeers, and anything you do to harm us will count as treason.'

'That's if they find you.'

'Ah.' Athos muttered, quirking an eyebrow. 'Come now, Corbin- you were a tough man, no doubt about it, but now?' He smiled as Corbin had the grace to step back. 'You have no power or influence; you are but a weak man with no place to go.'

Corbin smiled at that, and d'Artagnan was forcibly reminded of a cat going in for the kill. 'You think so?' He muttered, before gesturing for some other men to come forwards. Aramis frowned a little as he saw each man had a large bucket of what he presumed was water.

'No influence?' Corbin continued, not looking as another man came with a funnel, and another with a strip of cloth. 'How do you think exiled men are kept in line? Words? Promises of greater lives? No. Discipline- hard discipline.' He looked across at a younger man, who, despite being in the presence of musketeers, still bowed his head and avoided eye contact. 'They're lucky I'm here- a man who knows what he's doing.'

'Please,' Aramis scoffed, unease now slowly trickling into his nerves. 'Any man can become a torturer.'

'But not every man knows when to stop.' Came his reply.

'You disarm me with your compassion.' Aramis growled, rolling his eyes. Corbin ignored him, and Porthos could see he was looking intently from each one of them to the other.

'So, who wants to volunteer?' His voice sent shivers down even Athos' back. They each looked at him with stony faces.

'You can't be serious?' D'Artagnan muttered at last.

Corbin grinned at that. 'I'm deadly serious.' He tossed his head at Porthos. 'You want a go?'

Porthos sneered yet said nothing- he wasn't even going to grace this monster with an answer.

'No?' Corbin pressed, before his eyes settled on Aramis. 'How about the medic?'

Aramis looked at him with dark eyes. 'I don't play games with idiots.'

'Shame.' Corbin shot back, before looking to the man he had wanted all along. 'Looks like it's you then, Athos.'

'When our captain sees we are not back he will come looking for us. He will kill you if he finds anything wrong.'

'I'm a torturer, not a killer.' Corbin sing songed. He cocked his head, grinning again. 'Have you ever been tortured?' He suddenly asked. 'Really tortured? For days on end, for so long you'd rather die?'

'No I haven't.' Athos replied, adrenaline started to surge. 'And neither have you.' He added, arching an eyebrow. 'You've only done the torturing.'

'Thats what I came to despise about you people- indifference to the suffering of others.' Corbin continued, eyes suddenly angry again. 'You think only you suffer, that no one else matters.'

'I'm not here to argue with you.'

'No, you're here to suffer.' Corbin's voice took an edgy turn. 'For your information I have been tortured to the point of death, only to be brought back.' He added, lip suddenly curling as Athos looked away.

'The Spanish were very...thorough...' He muttered, and Aramis could now see his fingers and hands were scarred, and there was a ribbon of small scars on his neck. 'I must say I learnt a lot from them, too.'

Athos twisted slightly, licking his lips. 'We're very sorry about what happened to you, but if you do this-' he growled as he was pulled up by his shirt and pulled to the front. 'You'll be killed if you do this!' He added as he was once again forced to his knees.

Corbin now seemed to be paying very little attention to him- Aramis was about to jump up, damn the consequences, and get them all out of here- He stopped midway as he felt two heavy hands clamp onto his shoulders and push him back down. A growl from Porthos and a small short-lived struggle from d'Artagnan told him the same had happened to them

'So how is this going to work, Corbin?' He spat, anger replacing fear again. 'You torture us one by one, then skip town like nothing ever happened?'

'You do have a good imagination, Aramis,' Corbin smiled as he stood behind Athos, 'you'd make a good torturer.'

Aramis sneered at that, eyes searching Athos' to discern some sort of plan. Corbin laughed as he didn't answer, before shrugging. 'If you ever fancy a career change?' He added, before walking over and kicking a bucket, smiling as water sloshed over the side.

'Ever heard of the water cure?' He asked lightly, hitting Athos' head when he didn't respond. 'Well?'

'Of course I have.' Athos spat, unease coursing through his body now as realisation began to hit him. Water cure was a torture fully sanctioned by the courts of Paris- many of the men and women the musketeers and red guards arrested and imprisoned were routinely 'put to the question' using this method.

He had never seen it happen, but knew of it from accounts he had heard. It was barbaric and cruel, but also very good at getting information out of someone- it took many forms, but the basic premise was forcing water into a prisoner until their stomach could take no more and he was on the cusp of 'dry drowning' before stopping and forcing the water back out. The only one of them who had been present as someone was put to the question was Aramis, and he had never spoken about it again.

'Well, we haven't got enough water for you to be put to the extraordinary question, so the ordinary question will have to do...' Corbin muttered to himself as he picked up the funnel and cloth. Athos looked up, any cockiness he previously felt now gone. 'You don't need to do this. This is an executionable offence- stop now and we will even let you go on your way.'

'I highly doubt that.' Corbin replied, before putting a foot on Athos' chest and kicking him backwards.

'No!' Aramis cried, fighting to stand up- he hissed in anger as the cool blade of a dagger was pressed against his neck. 'Don't do this! I'll take it!' He shouted, unwilling to believe his eyes. He had seen this torture up close- he could deal with it better knowing what was about to come... Athos squirmed on the floor as he desperately tried to get into a fighting position- he stopped as he heard the sounds of a number of guns being drawn beside him.

'I'll make this simpler for you- if you continue to struggle we will shoot your friends one by one until one is left... The one left will be tortured in front of you before we kill you both. Understand?'

'Connard!' Athos spat out the insult as he saw their own muskets pressed against the heads of his brothers.

'Peut être...' Corbin replied back, shrugging as he walked between the musketeers on their knees. 'Peut-être pas.'

'If you stop now we won't reveal anything about you!' D'Artagnan growled, giving the man who had him clamped to the ground a dirty look. 'It'll be like nothing happened!'

Corbin laughed as Athos scrambled back up into a kneeling position, now breathing heavily. 'I rather think the time for negotiations like that has passed now, boy- don't you?'

'Please,' Aramis found himself begging, his eyes wide as Athos was suddenly grabbed at the shoulders and roughly pulled to the front next to the buckets. 'Please don't do this- you know as well as I that this treatment is barbaric. You have no point to make, no debt to settle with any of us...let Athos go.'

'You know, people say that if you work on something hard enough it begins to consume you, obsess you,' Corbin muttered conversationally as Athos was pushed onto his front so hard they heard the breath leave his body with a whoosh of dispersed air.

'Bakers end up making bread for the hell of it, just because they can. Butchers take orders from neighbours to prepare their meat, just because they can. Writers see stories everywhere and tell them to people for their own amusement, just because they can.' His eyes suddenly turned dark as he looked Aramis in the face. 'Why should torture be any different?'

'You can't- you're not meant...you know it's wrong...' Aramis garbled, shaking his head. 'Musketeers or not, torturing people for fun is disgusting! It's diabolical!'

'Spare me the adjectives, Aramis- you think I care what someone like you thinks of people like me?' Corbin waved a hand at him as if in dismissal, before kneeling down to Athos. 'I stopped taking any notice of what you people thought a long time ago.' He muttered, before grasping Athos' shoulder and turning him so he was on his back. Athos said nothing, not even pleading or bargaining words- he knew this man was going to do whatever he wanted, no matter what was said.

'Turned back into the strong and silent type?' Corbin snorted, already busy with the buckets of water and the funnel. 'Don't worry- I know how to make men like you talk.' He said with a small laugh as Athos looked daggers at him.

'Right, now let's see if I remember how to do this right...' Corbin mused, looking around. 'Don't want to bodge it!' He laughed, the gallows humour sickening Aramis to the core.

'If you stop now-' the punch to the side of the head made him see stars; he hadn't even seen Corbin dart forwards.

'You need to start listening!' He spat as the man behind the musketeers hauled him back into a kneeling position. 'Right, where was I...' He looked to two men standing off to the side. 'Come here- you're going to need to hold him down.'

D'Artagnan watched with wide eyes as they advanced. 'PLEASE!' He shouted across- he couldn't let this happen, not to Athos...

Aramis struggled wildly against the man still pinning him to the grass. He thrashed again and got a heel of a fist in his ear for his troubles; he stilled for a moment, temporally stunned by the force of it. He came back to reality as his eyes fell on Athos now feebly struggling to get away as the two men clasped his arms and legs and held him to the ground.

Still he didn't say a word, yet Porthos could see from his face that he was terrified. Sod this... He thought, before launching himself to his feet- he was mildly surprised at how easy it was; if he had known he could have resisted so easily he'd have done it twenty minutes ago.

His eyes flashed angrily as he bored down on the men holding his friends captive- at first he would withstand their feeble attempts at trying to sway him, but more came, swarming like ants over rotten fruit. Just as he had felled the man holding Aramis another came with a rock from behind- he fell heavily to the floor with a groan, already unconscious before his head hit the grass.

Aramis couldn't bare him any mind, though- he had to get to Athos. A click and the hard cold metal of a gun pressed to his temple, while d'Artagnan once again had a long blade held tight under his chin. His heart was in his mouth as the man weilding the weapon came around to face him.

'On your knees.' He ordered, and Aramis could do nothing now but comply. His eyes never left Athos as the other man still tried to get away.

'Well, you've all got heart, I'll give you that!' Corbin snorted, seemingly unperturbed by the activities going on around him. 'Is the biggun' dead?' He asked, tossing his head at Porthos.

One of the men went to check. 'No. Still breathing.'

Corbin gave a small half smile before kneeling to Athos and forcing his head sideways to look at the bigger man's prone form. 'If you keep struggling I'll shoot him dead. Understand?'

'Just stop this madness!' Aramis cried, eyes round. 'Don't be stupid-'

'I'm starting to get bored now,' Corbin interrupted, walking over and accepting a cloth from another man. 'And the last thing you need is a bored torturer, believe me.'

Athos could do nothing but look with wide eyes as Corbin advanced, cloth and funnel in hand. 'Please,' he finally spoke, voice quiet as a child. 'Please don't do this.' He was suddenly feeling something he hadn't felt in this much volume since he'd found the body of his brother that fateful night. Fear. Real fear.

'Don't plead, Athos.' Corbin rebutted, snorting. 'It doesn't suit a musketeer to plead.'

The intended insult to his character washed over him. 'Don't do this.' He said again, feeling his hands shake even as they were held tight to his sides.

Corbin did naught but laugh at him, before kneeling down. 'I'm going to do this, and do you know why?' He asked, fiddling with the cloth. 'Because I enjoy it.' He suddenly threw the funnel to some trees, apparently deciding not to use it.

'This way is a little more mess, but much more satisfying...' He mused as Athos shrank back. He could hear Aramis calling out, his voice crackling with emotion as he fought to be at his side, to stop this from happening. He didn't want any of them to watch- least of all d'Artagnan, who he saw in his peripheral vision struggling to get to him as well. The lad didn't need to witness this.

Before he could speak again the cloth was bunched up and forced into his mouth a little- he gagged on that, his reflexes trying to push it out: someone held it tight as he bucked away. The voices of his brother's got louder and louder as he heard the buckets of water being moved...and yet the volume dimmed suddenly as one of them was suddenly upended onto the cloth.

'No!' Aramis shouted, shaking his head as angry, frustrated tears sprang to his eyes. 'Corbin!' He yelled, but the man pouring the water took no notice. His eyes were staring at Athos as he gagged and choked on the water, swallowing again and again as he desperately tried to stop himself from drowning on dry land.

Seconds later the bucket was empty, and as Corbin tossed it to the ground he pulled out the strip of cloth. Athos heaved out a great breath, before coughing hard and long, water coming back up as he retched.

'Three more to go!' Corbin suddenly announced cordially, as if speaking about wine or money.

'What?' Aramis breathed, shaking his head again. 'I'll take the next one!' He shouted, trying to force himself forwards. 'I'll take all the others!'

'How very nice of you to offer, Aramis,' Corbin accepted, picking up the next bucket. 'But I'm sure Athos is more than capable of taking it.'

'Stop this! You'll kill him!'

'I've done this a long time.' Corbin stepped closer to Athos, who know renewed his attempts to move away, his teeth chattering together as water ran in his eyes. 'I won't let him die.'

Athos barely had time for another breath before the cloth was once again shoved into his mouth- a panicked, muffled cry escaped him before the water streamed down again. Time seemed to slow as his mouth and throat worked to gulp down the water that filled his stomach like a wine skin. The cloth pushed against the back of his throat, making him gag even more.

He felt himself go dizzy, like his head was jumping through time. The sides of his vision started to blur and darken now. This was it...this was the end of everything.

Seconds later the water quelled and the cloth ripped out again- he vomited as much of it out as he could, but still it sloshed in his stomach, stinging his throat as it came up. He was now only barely aware of d'Artagnan screaming out obscenities and Aramis pleading for his life. He felt sluggish, heavy. Let it be over now... He begged, eyes now half closed. Let it be done.

He saw a shadow over him and knew it was Corbin with the next bucket- the cloth was forced into his mouth once again, almost to the back of his throat again. He knew he wouldn't survive another onslaught. He resigned himself there and then, and instead of bucking, or pleading, or escaping, he now looked up steadfastly, resolutely. He waited, watching as the bucket tipped, and the water began dropping- he couldn't help but gag and struggle as the water fell onto his face. It was all he could do now to keep himself conscious as he swallowed it down-suddenly there was an almighty bang and everything went dark.

And then, nothing. No water. No hands pushing him into position. He lay there, gagging and retching, before someone fell to their knees beside him.

'Its alright, it's alright...' Aramis muttered, gently pulling the cloth from his mouth. 'You're alright, my friend...' He pulled Athos around so his head was facing the ground. 'You need to get the water out, Athos.' He muttered with urgency, but Athos was already retching it up. 'As much as you can.' When he couldn't get it all out just by retching he used his fingers; Aramis squeezed his shoulder as it came flowing out of him. He sank forwards with exhaustion and as the ordeal washed over him- Aramis held him to his shoulder as the water still came out, propping his brother up to make sure he didn't drown again. When it seemed like the majority was out Athos was helped shakily to his feet. He looked down and saw Corbin lying dead at his feet.

'What...?' His question was answered as a very familiar voice shouted orders amid the sounds of a small skirmish. Captain Treville strode towards him, eyes full of concern. He put a hand on his shoulder and looked him up and down. 'Can you walk?' He asked, anger flashing in his eyes.

'I-I..' Athos winced as his throat erupted in pain.

'Alright lad, don't speak,' Treville squeezed his shoulder. 'I thought something was wrong when you didn't show up for our meeting.' He looked down at Corbin, resisting the very unprofessional urge to spit upon his body. 'Glad we got here in time.' He settled for muttering as his fisted his hands in his gloves to stop him from hitting something. He looked back at Aramis, who wiped relieved eyes from the tears that had built up. 'Well done lads,' he said gently as he nodded, before looking at Athos. 'You need a matron, and fast.' He added, eyes softening with concern as the younger man bent down to retch some more, eyes squeezed shut in pain.

The three of them looked round as Porthos came round, a hand to his wounded head. 'I think you all need to be checked over.' Treville corrected himself, before looking to the turncoats now being rounded up. 'These men have appointments with the dungeons.' He said as a departing statement, not even bothering to hide his anger any more, before nodding at the two of them and walking away to his duties.

Athos coughed again as Aramis led him to his horse. 'Can you manage?' He asked him, voice gentle. He really thought he was watching one of his best friends being killed, and now every second he gazed upon his very-much-alive- form he felt supremely lucky. He touched the crucifix on his neck instinctively.

Athos nodded to save his voice. 'T...thank y-y-you...' He attempted, before resigning himself to silence as the pain made him wince.

'For what? I didn't do anything...' Aramis muttered, before nodding as he saw Athos about to speak again, probably to argue with him. 'Ok, alright- you're welcome.' He added, giving him a small smile. The nod he got in return made him snort. 'Let's get you seen to.' He muttered as he helped him atop his horse. Porthos was being helped by d'Artagnan, and seconds later they were slowly making their way to the city, each knowing none of them would be getting over this ordeal any time soon.


	25. X is for Xerostomia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> X is for Xerostomia….

The day was hot, heavy and stank of vintage perfumes. Even outside in the courtyard from his spot on guard Aramis could scarcely breathe for the stench. It was the King's birthday ball and gentry had come from far and wide to celebrate; great throngs of people had arrived throughout the morning, and now it had got to mid-afternoon there was still no sign of the crowds lessening.

The sun was high in the sky, pitching down onto the musketeer's faces as they squinted at invitations and allowed people through; Aramis was more than glad he wasn't a cook or a servant.

'Gonna be a hot one, eh?' Porthos nudged his side, wiping sweat from his own face with a grimace.

'Aye, looks like it.' He replied, taking his skin of water out and taking a gulp. 'Let's hope they stop arriving now and we can have a break in the shade.' He looked across at d'Artagnan and Athos, who were stood to his other side. They both looked flushed and sweaty in the sunlight too- 'anyone know a rain dance?' He quipped, feigning a small smile.

'After you-' Athos replied, eyebrow quirked. 'Let's see what the Captain will make of your prancing about in front of the guests.'

As if by magic, the Captain and the King suddenly appeared at the other side of the courtyard and were slowly making their way towards them; Aramis squinted into the distance as he peered at the King's clothes. He looked like an overdressed, colourful peacock. He stifled a smile as his loud voice suddenly caught their ears.

'Someone's excited.' He deadpanned to Porthos as the Captain answered with a very obviously put-on smile.

'Maybe he'll be nice and give us a break?' Porthos muttered; Aramis nodded hopefully as they all stood to attention, eyes forward as the King and their Captain stopped in front of them.

'Good afternoon my most loyal subjects!' The king exclaimed gaily, eyes sparkling as he did a twirl in his new garb. 'Like it? Fresh from my cousin this morning!'

'It's...elegant, your Majesty, Aramis quickly answered, bowing slightly. 'A fit and colour only right for a man such as yourself.'

'You know, that's exactly what I said to her!' Louis looked across at him, wide eyed, before hitting him not too lightly on the shoulder and screeching out a laugh. 'Oh, I'm keeping you!'

'Wonderful news, Sire...' Aramis groaned, managing to only wince a little as his shoulder stung from the blow.

'Now, onto more important things... Are all my guests here?' The King turned to Athos, who had been out in charge of the scroll of names of those invited.

'We have six guests outstanding, but I seem to recall a notice I received a little while ago that their carriage had broken down on the road.' Athos replied.

'Oh really, something to do with the wheel?' The King answered, already pouting. 'Surely they could have fixed-'

'Not quite your Majesty- their horse died on the side of the road.'

'What tosh!' The king admonished, eyes narrowed. 'Well we'll just have to start without them!' Louis stopped mid sentence, however. 'Well... They are very important guests...probably the most important- apart from me, that is!' He turned to the Captain, who gave a loud, plastered on laugh at his jape, before returning to his stony face demeanour as soon as the King turned away.

'Hmm...what a bother..' He muttered to himself. 'And my party is due to start soon...'

'Sire, if I may offer a pertinent solution?' Aramis offered, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down his neck. 'Why don't you go inside, and a servant or footman can wait for your guests?' He didn't like the idea of throwing the job onto a poor servant, not with the weather being as brutal as it was, but he really did want to sample some choice wine inside in the coolness.

'What a frightfully tip-top idea!' Louis beamed, before scribbling down some names onto a small piece of paper he had in his pocket and handing it to a bemused Aramis. 'These are their names, and make sure they come full of apology!'

'Me- Sire I'm sure I mentioned a footman or-'

'This was your idea!' The king annoyingly singsonged, 'you go through with it- unless you have a problem?'

'Problem? Me? No Your Majesty...not at all.' He spoke through gritted teeth, before the king nodded and walked away. Treville put a hand on his shoulder as he walked passed. 'You'll probably need to go and stand in the open, with view of the road. Don't worry, I'll see water is brought to you.'

'Thank you, Sir.' Aramis replied, before sighing as he turned back to his brothers. 'Remind me never to offer a solution to anything ever again!' He growled, rolling his neck as a headache began to cloud behind his eyes. They stood in silence for a while, before Porthos coughed loudly and said with a smirk, 'we'll, we can't stay stood around here all day- that wine has got to be tasted!' He grinned, laughing as Aramis gave him a death glare. 'If it's all gone by the time I get there...' He warned, before sighing and wiping a hand down his face as the King's loud voice boomed across again as he greeted the guests already in the palace. 'Well, I better go keep an eye for these stragglers,' he finally said, before giving a curt nod to his brothers and turning and walking away, shielding his eyes with a hand against the high afternoon sun.

The other three made their way gratefully into the shade of the building, each feeling slightly guilty about leaving their comrade out in the sun, but this was swiftly countered by a waiter with a large tray of goblets positively overflowing with cool, refreshing wine.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Aramis sighed wearily as he felt sweat trickle down his temple; he fumbled for his water skin, grumbling under his breath as he drank the last few trickles. The captain had promised water, but so far there had been nothing; he'd go and fetch some himself, but knowing his luck the gusts would arrive as soon as he walked inside. He didn't want the extra headache of dealing with the King and apologising for leaving his post.

He'd just have to deal with no water for a while...he was sure the guests would be here soon; it didn't take this long to fetch a replacement horse, did it? It had been over an hour now, for heaven's sake.

He shuffled on the balls of his feet, a throbbing pain suddenly appearing high in his forehead. It was just so hot. A claggy, humid heat with no wind...the worst kind of weather, bar snow. He hated snow.

His uniform was heavy and unforgivingly tight and warm; his boots clung to his calves like they had been sewn on, and his weapons were hanging heavily at his thighs, dragging him downwards as the sun beat a horrible blaze onto his head.

He turned as he heard laughter from the palace- he cast a wistful gaze at them, feeling his stomach drop a little as he saw Athos at the window, quirking an eyebrow at Porthos as he bellowed out a silent laugh, clutching his sides and hitting d'Artagnan on the shoulder. It looked like they were having fun in the shade.

'Pull yourself together...' He berated himself, before wobbling a little as the earth teetered a little. He regained himself and pulled himself upright, before widening his eyes as another dizzy spell rocked him. This didn't seem good.

'Come on, come on...' He whispered, licking his lips; he frowned as he realised he had no spit. His head was throbbing painfully now, and he was fighting the urge to close his eyes as the muscles pulsated. He needed shade, or at least fluid...'Where's that water...' He asked himself lightly, before his stomach began rolling and dipping in a most uncomfortable way. He put a hand on his stomach, before the sounds of footsteps could be heard ahead. He tried to squint ahead in the sunlight to see who it was, yet he found his eyes were almost too heavy to even open. He vaguely registered that they were the late guests, but as he went to welcome them he promptly buckled at the knees and sank to the ground, fighting to keep his eyes open.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

'I wonder how Mis is getting on?' D'Artagnan muttered from their places by the King. It had now been almost two hours since he had been stood waiting for the guests.

'He'll be along soon- it can't take that long to replace a nag with a gammy leg.' Porthos muttered, slurping some more wine.

'I already told you, the horse died.' Athos replied, rolling his eyes. 'It didn't have a gammy leg.'

'Whichever- it doesn't take long to replace a horse in these parts.' Porthos shrugged, before the three of them looked over at a sudden commotion by the door.

'Whats happening over there then?' D'Artagnan asked. The other two shrugged, so they made their ways quickly and efficiently over to the throng of people.

'Quickly!' A man with an impressive white handlebar moustache called, noting their blue cloaks. 'One of your people has keeled over!'

'One of our people?' D'Artagnan muttered, frowning, but Athos was already pushing his way ahead, eyes wide with panic. 'Aramis...' Porthos replied, before they did the same, looking around for their brother.

They found him on the ground, barely awake, with Athos already by his side.

'Feel...hot...' He moaned as Athos deftly undid the ceremonial buttons on his cloak and shirt and loosened the material around his neck.

'Stupid man, why didn't you come in for water?' He muttered darkly, upending his own water skin onto Aramis' face and chest. 'D'artagnan, bring more water!' He called, before pushing Aramis's sweaty fringe from his brow and putting more water on his forehead.

'Feel better?'

'...a bit.'

'Good- the heat would have killed you if those guests hadn't of called us!'

'Oh, are they here?' Aramis replied, looking around. 'I hadn't noticed.'

'I swear you just got taller and never made it past childhood.' Athos quipped, before feeling Aramis' cheek. 'You're really clammy- we should get you in the shade.' He muttered, before he and Porthos gently manoeuvred him to his feet.

'Lean on us if you want, mate.' Porthos muttered, before grinning as Aramis swiftly let his legs go from under him,rendering his complete weight on their shoulders.

'Now don't be silly!'

'But you said-'

'Get up you great oaf!'

Aramis smiled weakly and did so, before his eyes caught a glimpse of a trio of beautiful ladies making their way into the palace. 'Afternoon, ladies...' He muttered, winking at them.

'I'm not sure they're too interested in a sweaty, clammy, immature musketeer who looks like he's about to fall down at any second.' Athos swiftly quipped. 'So behave yourself.'

'Spoil...sport.' Aramis muttered, before he was finally deposited on a step in the shade, away from the prying eyes of guests. D'Artagnan came back with some water which Aramis hastily drank before he sat back, sighing.

'Well. That was unpleasant.'

'It looked it,' Athos muttered, leaning on the wall. 'You can have an hour to recuperate but I'm afraid we're really rather going to need you in the palace after that.'

'Give me half an hour and I'll be there.'

'No, you'll have an hour- that way you can make sure you won't keel over again.'

'But you said-'

'-I need to make sure you're alright first.' Athos interjected. 'The King is well looked after- we have to look out for each other.'

'Alright then, an hour it is.' Aramis sank back as d'Artagnan passed him another full skin of water. 'Then I can come in for wine?'

'You can have a little, not too much.'

'First the sun, now you- everything is really trying to soil my day, aren't they?'

'Sorry about that...' Athos muttered with a small smile, before nodding to the others that it was time for them to make their way back to the palace. 'I'll be back to check on you when I do the perimeter rounds.'

'Sounds good to me.' Aramis smiled, before sitting back and massaging his temples as his brothers walked slowly away from him.

He sat in silence as the shade embraced him in a lovely coolness, suddenly thankful of water and of good friends.


	26. Y is for Youth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y is for Youth....

'Why did I agree to this...' Porthos grunted, sighing deeply. 'And on my day off too.'

'Could be worse,' d'Artagnan shrugged as he stood beside him inside the training area at the garrison, mercifully empty of anyone else. 'You could be stuck in a dingy back alley bar, drinking the day away into oblivion.' He quirked an eyebrow to the larger man, who gave him a knowing grin. The grin soon subsided, however, as they heard a sudden cacophony of screams, yells and voices erupt out of seemingly nowhere. They scrunched their eyes up as they were suddenly under attack by the swarm of colours and voices. Yet this wasn't war, this wasn't even a practice. No, this was worse, much worse.

It was children.

'Alright, alright!' Porthos shouted amid the din of excitable, pint sized boys and girls as they clamoured excitedly around the two of them. 'Calm down then!' The noise only seemed to worsen, however, as the gabble turned rapidly into a rabble as they all fought to get a better look. Porthos could feel irritation rising but he swallowed it down. 'Kids, kids!' He shouted again, raising his voice as he fought to keep control- he spied Treville, along with Athos and Aramis behind the pack of children as they made their way to the Captain's office, each trying to suppress a small smile.

He'd agreed to this; he had to do something... 'SHUT UP!' He finally yelled- the sudden silence was deafening. He looked across to d'Artagnan with a worried look on his face.

'Too heavy?' He muttered.

'Maybe a little.'

'...did the job though.'

'Oh yes, very efficient.'

'Hmm...' Porthos murmured, before looking at the children, wondering where the hell to begin.

It was Aramis who had originally offered the idea of letting children into the Garrison for a day to "have a taste of life as a Musketeer". Conveniently he then had prior engagements, as did Athos, yet the Captain loved the idea...this left d'Artagnan and Porthos in the frame. Porthos didn't mind kids as such, he just liked them in small doses. As for d'Artagnan, he was still a lad himself, and was perfect to connect with the young up and coming soldiers of the future.

After a talk with Constance about their plans suddenly turned heated when he'd mentioned that only boys would be invited, d'Artagnan soon had to make the Captain swear to allow girls into the group- it was unorthodox, especially as they wouldn't be the soldiers of tomorrow, yet many had answered their invitation and were stood before them now, their hair tied and their boots freshly scrubbed.

Porthos was quite pleased with the turnout. He smiled warmly at them as they started to whisper again, staring up at the two of them in their uniforms. 'Right.' He boomed, causing a few of the younger ones at the front to back away a little. 'Well, thanks for coming- so you're all here cos you want to be musketeers?'

A little girl raised her hand, eyes narrowed. 'Sir, girls can't be musketeers. Should we go?'

'First of all, please don't call me sir.' Porthos muttered, feeling his face heat a little. 'You don't have to go anywhere- just cos you can't be a musketeer doesn't mean you can't see what it's like to be one.'

'And besides, the bravest person I know happens to be a lady.' D'Artagnan cut in, smiling as he thought of Constance. 'You stay right where you are- I bet you girls could show us boys a thing or two.' He added, feeling his heart lift as all the girls in the group smiled broadly at each other, nodding at the boys and sticking their tongues out at them.

'Right- shall we get going then?' Porthos asked, rubbing his hands. 'Why don't we start with some sparring? Then we could-'

'Swords!' The group suddenly erupted, looking around excitedly. 'Where's the swords? Can we have them?!'

'Quiet!' Porthos growled, hiding a smile. 'I think you're all a little young for metal...' He muttered, before grabbing a pile of wooden sticks, cut down to kid-sizes, and handed d'Artagnan some. 'You'll be using these.' He said, smiling as he handed them out to some rather dejected looking children.

'Come on, buck up!' D'Artagnan grinned, passing out the rest. 'Every musketeer learnt by using these- you think we just joined and knew how to fight?' He added, stepping back as the kids started swinging the wooden sticks around.

'Right- everyone get into pairs, and each pair stand opposite the other!' Porthos yelled, and everyone sprang to attention. He ducked a stick that had been swung a little high, and carefully stepped round so he could see everyone.

'Right- now everyone take four steps backwards!' He smiled as everyone did as they were told.

'This is easy enough...' He whispered to d'Artagnan, who nodded his agreement.

'Ok- now everyone...on my command, engage your partner in a match. Keep your sticks low and your hits weak!' He shouted,looking around. 'No whacking each other around the head!' He looked up to see Aramis and Athos grinning broadly down at them, leaning their elbows on the wooden fence atop their elevated position. Porthos rolled his shoulders and clicked his neck- he'd show them that he and the lad could deal with kids with no issues...

'Right- go!' He called, his eyes widening suddenly as each child gave a sudden, high pitched war cry and launched themselves at each other, wildly batting at each other with the sticks.

'Careful! Careful!' He called, alarm coursing through him. 'Light hits!' He looked across at d'Artagnan, who had jumped back as a stick came his way.

'Look at your techniques!' He called, before realising he and Porthos hadn't actually taught them any...in fact, now he came to think about it, they hadn't taught them much at all.

'Maybe we should have explained footwork first?' He called, before groaning as he heard Aramis whooping and shouting encouragement to individual children as they fought, a broad grin on his face.

'Maybe disciple, chivalry?' He added, before wincing as a larger boy with brutish strength suddenly whacked his shoulder with the stick. 'Careful!' He chastised, before picking up a forgotten stick- 'look, how about we work on your foot-' he had hardly got his sentence out when the boy flew at him, stick raised. It was all he could do to protect his face as he managed to get his own stick up in time.

'Not at the face!' He growled, before getting low, meeting the boy's stance as he stood back, chuckling as others joined him in front of the young musketeer. 'Come on then, let's see what you've got!' He smiled, before he suddenly realised he had made a very big mistake as the boy puffed himself up, eyes alight with a sudden...something. Evilness, d'Artagnan decided- he was proved right seconds later, letting out a small cry of alarm as five ten year olds suddenly launched themselves at him, sticks- as well as fists- flying everywhere.

'Porthos!' He yelped from the ground as he was climbed on by the children, all screaming out battle cries and french curses. 'A little help!' He internally groaned as he heard Aramis burst into laughter, before groaning for real as he felt a small foot suddenly kick in a very precious place.

'Coming, lad!' He heard the bigger musketeer shout back, but seconds later he heard a whoop of dispersed air and a strangled yelp before Porthos too was dragged to the sand, arms suddenly full of wriggling children.

'Kids, kids! Stop a minute!' He heard him shout, his eyes wide as now the girls were jumping all over him, laughing at the challenge. 'Why aren't you doing as you're told?!'

'This is just great!' D'Artagnan growled, desperately trying to move himself upwards so he could at least stand up. They had to get control back somehow...

'ENOUGH!' The shout was strong, loud and was made to be obeyed. Every child stopped what they were doing and looked round, eyes wide.

'Well.' The Musketeer in front of them said, eyes narrowed and voice dark. 'I have never seen a rabble as loud and disobedient as you.' He stood with his hands behind his back, his booted foot tapping on the sand. 'Stand up, all of you.' He commanded, withholding a small smile as each child scrambled up at once, lining to attention. Porthos and d'Artagnan gingerly stood, wincing a little at blooming bruises on their chests as they stretched. They looked up at Athos, who, with a tiny minute shake of his head in their direction, looked back at the children.

'Musketeers are known for their bravery, their comradeship- and their discipline. This is what you must learn first.' He said, voice strong and commanding. 'My men know what is expected of them- now you will all run around this area five time, before coming back to stand exactly where you are now. Go!' He called, before stepping back as each child began their run.

He sniffed as he came to a stop next to the other two, before smiling across at Aramis as he too joined them. 'Well, remind us next time not to put you two down as teachers for the new recruits.' He muttered, giving each of them a look.

'But Athos they were...strong.'

'They're ten.'

'Strong ten year olds...'

'I can't believe they got you both to the ground-'

'Hey, we didn't have sticks!'

'...you're really going to go with that as an excuse?'

'What did you want us to do, hit them back?' D'Artagnan reasoned, massaging his ribs.

'I expected you to raise your voices a few notches.' Athos shrugged, arching an eyebrow at Aramis as he stifled a laugh. 'You practically let them roll all over you.'

'How did you do that?' Porthos asked, sidestepping the embarrassment.

'Do what?'

'Y'know...make them do as you told them.'

'Its called having a strong voice.' Athos remarked, before looking back. He sighed and pursed his lips, before looking at the position of the sun in the sky. 'I wonder how many laps we can get them to do before it's time for them to go home?'

'Well,' Aramis muttered, smiling as he watched them run. 'I'd say at least twenty more.'

'You think?'

'Oh, absolutely.'

''D'artagnan, Porthos- go fetch some pitches of water and some bread for them for when they're done.' He ordered, before he and Aramis turned back to the kids.

'Come on then, keep your knees up!' He called, before he and Aramis started running with them for encouragement, barking orders as they went.

'Give me war any day...' Porthos muttered to the younger musketeer as they slowly walked back into the confines of the mess hall, each massaging their aching muscles as they went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! One more to go!  
> Please comment!


	27. Z is for Zoothapsis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Z is for Zoothapsis

Athos, not for the first time, awoke from his hazy drunken state in absolute, total darkness. The silence was obscurely deafening, and as he took a tentative sniff of the air (to check for vomit or the stench of whatever he'd fallen in) he was confused by a pungent, deeply earthy smell.

He groaned, squeezing his eyes open and shut tightly as his head fought a crippling hangover that was already spreading like a stagnant stream behind his eyes.

He put an arm up to help heave himself up, a moan of effort escaping his lips- the moan turned into a small cry of surprise as his head hit the top of something large, solid and unmoving, and his hand scraped painfully against a rough surface.

'What...?' He muttered, noting with a shrill panic that his voice didn't sound right...it sounded...hollow, somehow. He groggily tapped on the darkened surface, before scrunching his face up as shards of something dripped on his face, into his eyes.

He pushed it away, wrinkling his nose up as a distinct earthy smell suddenly emanated around him.

No...he thought to himself as a fear began to set in- he gingerly reached his booted feet downwards, before closing his eyes in horror as they hit a hard surface as well. Surely not...

He pushed his arms out and let his fingernails drag against the course wooden surface of whatever was containing him. Splinters stuck into the sensitive skin under his nails but in his maudlin state he hardly even registered the pain; his breath hitched and he tried to withhold a panicked breath- the thick smell of dirt was starting to make him gag as he started taking in deep breaths.

'Help!' He croaked, his stomach in his mouth as he tentatively banged on the wooden lid of the coffin he'd found himself entombed in. He stopped as he heard rustling above. 'Hello?' He called, painfully aware that he probably couldn't even be heard; he had no idea how far below ground he was. 'Help me, please!'

There was more rustling, as if someone was walking about- the footfalls were deep sounding, but Athos guessed that was only because he was hearing it from below. 'Please, help!' He shouted, before pounding on the lid of the coffin again; what he now realised was dirt and mud littered his face again as he dislodged earth from behind the lid. The noise stopped, before Athos jumped in surprise as he suddenly heard three loud thuds. It was like someone was jabbing at the ground with a stick or a spade.

'Hello?!' He shouted, feeling panic lance in his nerves. The headache pounded in his head, and nausea sloshed in his stomach. 'I'm down here! Get me out!' He stopped and listened intently. He knew someone was up there. But now all he could hear was a deafening silence, permeated only now by his panicked, harsh breathing. He lay back, trying desperately to even out his breaths as he thought of what to do. He knew he wouldn't have much air in here, so he had to try and find his way out as soon as possible; he punched the top of the coffin lid, grimacing as mud and dirt hit his cheeks again. 'Help me!' he shouted again, a small cry escaping him once more as all that met his ears was silence.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The alleyways and backstreets of Paris were jostling with people, even as the night was nearing its close, with morning fast approaching. The three men ambled down the streets, their mouths stretched with contented smiles and their bellies full of good food and better wine.

Aramis had an arm slung around Porthos' shoulder as they meandered their ways home, and d'artagnan followed on behind, smiling at his friends as they made their ways through the streets, the cobbles damp with dew and goodness knows what else. He sighed a little as his mind wandered to the man who had refused their offer of a night out, and whose mere lack of presence was sorely missed.

Athos had blamed aching muscles and a sprained ankle for his refusal to go out with them, but he had promised them all that as soon as he was better he'd join them again. Aramis had tried bargaining, offering to 'borrow' a wheelbarrow or cart from a local farmer, but for some strange reason the older man had refused this kind offer. They had eventually left him to it, although Aramis had made him swear he'd join them if he felt up to it- Athos had done so, a small smile on his lips as he had watched his friends leave his quarters and make their way to the bar district of the city.

'You think we should check on Atos?' d'Artagnan muttered, deciding to voice his concerns to the other men. Aramis shrugged, his eyes slightly glazed over by the wine.

'Why?' Porthos answered, before trying- and failing- to withhold a belch. 'He's fine.'

'Well he did look a bit on the rough side before we left,' the younger man pointed out, arching an eyebrow.

'Because he had sore muscles,' Aramis countered, before looking across at the lad and relenting a little as he caught sight of his worried expression. 'Alright, we can pop in if you're that worried- his rooms are on our way.' He said, smiling as he unlooped his arm from Porthos and they began their short walk to Athos' rooms.

The rooms that Athos chose to call home were in the ground floor section of a small complex that held four other rooms that were occupied by other Musketeers; he had been given the largest of the rooms by Treville, with the captain mentioning his higher status as a soldier. The candles that normally adorned the walls of the room were extinguished, making the room pitch black apart from the light of the moon as the three men peered through the windows.

'He's probably asleep,' muttered Porthos, stifling a yawn himself. 'Like a sensible person whose feeling a little under the weather.'

'No,' Aramis whispered as he pushed himself away from the window to get to the door, 'He always leaves the candle by the door to his room aglow….' He added. 'Behind a glass cage, obviously- he always said it was so he could get ready in a hurry if we were ever called on a mission in haste.' He explained, knocking on the door. 'Athos?' he muttered, a frown creasing his eyes as he heard no reply. He knocked again, ignoring the sudden noise of a window being opened and a figure poking their head out.

'Do you mind! Some of us are trying to sleep!'

'Do you mind!' Porthos growled, eyes wide with anger. 'Some of us are trying to look for our friend!'

'Keep the noise down or I'll come down there and-'

'And what?' Porthos growled, ready for a fight, before d'Artagnan put a hand on his shoulder. The man who had previously shouted down to them shut the window with a thump, and soon silence came to the street again.

'I don't like this…' Aramis muttered, swallowing hard and wiping a hand down his face. 'If he was in there he'd never ignore us like this.'

'Maybe he's gone out?' Porthos replied. D'Artagnan was about to add something when he saw someone that made his stomach drop, and not in a good way. He cast a look back at the other two, and, relieved that neither of them had seen her either, silently stepped back into the shadows and went quickly to her side.

'What are you doing here?' he growled, looking her over as she draped a black cloak over her shoulders. Milady's pale face shown like fresh snow as she cast a smile in his direction.

'A lady can go for a walk, surely?' she whispered, her gloved hands steepled over a large staff, the bottom caked with mud, presumably from her travels. 'It is such a lovely night.'

'Hmmm….' The younger man muttered, worry piquing in his chest. 'I didn't think you would be round these parts.'

'Oh yes, I like wandering in places like this- its quite fascinating what you can find in grounds and land here.'

'Like what?'

'Nothing in particular….' Milady replied, before looking around. 'And you? What are three Musketeers doing round here?'

'We're looking for our friend, he's gone missing.' D'artagnan didn't think there was any point lying to her- it wasn't as if she'd be much help anyway, he mused.

'Really?' she replied, concern crossing her perfectly shaped brows. 'How tragic.'

'He's not dead.' The younger man retorted.

'How can you be so sure? There are so many dangers lurking- perhaps he has fallen into a ditch, or been abducted- it is too horrible to think about.'

'Yes, well-'

'D'artagnan!' Aramis' voice curtailed their conversation. 'Quickly!'

'I've got to go.' The Musketeer muttered, casting a last look at the woman as he smiled serenely at him, before he quickly made his way back to the other two, leaving Milady by herself- she sighed contentedly, before lifting the staff she had brought and wiping some mud from its tip with a gloved finger. Two men stepped from the shadows, their faces obscured by strips of cloth.

'Your payment.' She muttered without looking at them, before dropping two envelopes on the grass. She stepped over them and made her way back to the palace, her face a perfect mask in the moonlight.

D'artagnan's eyes widened as he saw the other two striding back down the path towards fields and grounds without waiting. 'Where are you going?' he called, jogging to keep up.

'Someone from the top of Athos' building said they saw him walking in this direction sometime in the night.' Porthos started, voice dark.

'And?' the young man muttered as he finally caught up. 'He probably went to replenish his stock of wine.'

'The only problem is,' Aramis replied, voice now laced with a mixture of panic and anger, 'they also mentioned that as he'd turned the corner he was jumped by two men in masks.' He finished as he strode along, eyes flicking left and right as they scanned the hedgerows and fields. This couldn't be happening…

'He could be anywhere, Mis….' Porthos whispered in a worried tone.

'Then we don't stop until we find him.'

XXXXXXXXXX

Athos was slowly coming to the conclusion that he was going to die here, in this Godforsaken hole- alone, choking on dirt and mud, or maybe just dying of lack of breath. His heart was still beating as if he'd run four leagues, but he had now stopped panicking-fear was dripping from him, yet all he could now feel was calmness. Thoughts of who had done this raced in his mind, yet all he could draw were blanks; his mind was hazy and his thoughts looped into one another. He couldn't focus on that, he told himself. He had to find a way out of this….

The darkness pressed in, as did the constant sick feeling. He gingerly tapped on the wooden coffin lid, his nails scraping on the surface. He wondered if he could just punch is way through- if he could just bore his way through like an animal might do. He figured he had nothing else left to lose- he could either stay here and accept this fate, or he could fight and maybe save himself.

He took in a deep breath as he steadied himself, before pulling his shirt up over his mouth and nose. That would keep some of the dirt out, he wagered.

Gingerly, he faced the top of the coffin, his fear and panic now returning in heady waves; he could very well kill himself if he did this, he thought darkly to himself.

'Help me!' he shouted again, hoping and praying that some farmer or child or someone would be up there to hear him. Nothing. Not even the sound of animals. He swallowed back a cry again, clearing his throat as he braced himself.

'Come on, you can do this…' he berated himself, before resigning himself to the task. The first punch let a cascade of dirt down onto him- the second was hard enough to crack the flimsy wood that was already buckling under the weight of the mud atop it.

He steeled himself and thrust upwards again, closing his eyes as mud fell now in them and began to fall in clumps around his body. He had no idea what he was doing, but he knew that now he had started he couldn't stop. The wood cracked and creaked above him- seconds later the crack had split the wood in half. He sucked in a breath, praying to all on high that it wasn't going to be his last as he desperately scooped the mud away from his face, to anywhere but his eyes, nose and mouth.

Move. He told himself. He had to move. He scraped the mud from his legs and kicked it to the sides of his coffin as he tried to manoeuvre himself into a better positing to tunnel his way out.

He tried not to breathe as he forced his way upwards, his eyes clenched shut as the mud threatened to push into his nose and mouth. His fingers curled around handfuls of mud as he thrust them upwards; he almost inhaled a mouthful of dirt in a cry of surprise as his fingers broke through the mud and curled out into open air.

His forearms followed, and as he desperately tried to move himself upwards he withheld more cried as the top of his head broke through the mud. His fingers latched onto fistfuls of long grasses, damp with morning dew, as he levered himself upwards and into the fresh air.

He felt reborn as he took his first breath- in the next he yelled out into the night, thankful for the air and the sky and the grass. Thankful for merely being.

He stopped as he heard his name being called in answer to his yell. He shouted again, eyes wide and his heart in his mouth, before he let out a strangled, garbled cry of relief and happiness as three familiar figures came running into view.

Aramis fell to his knees beside his brother, a sequence of curses flying through the air as he looked upon the scene, at Athos there with only his head just poking out from the ground. 'Athos! Oh my- let's get you out of there! 'He cried, shaking his head in rage. Using their bare hands the three of them began to dig the rest of Athos out, the slew of swearing not stopping for a second.

'Put your hands around my neck,' Aramis finally muttered, as they had got him as free as they could.

Athos reached out with tired arms as his ordeal finally began to register with him. He could have died here, had it not been for his brothers, for his family…..

Aramis did the rest, making sure that his arms were tight around his neck, before steeling himself and pulling backwards, groaning with exertion as he used his own body weight to pull Athos from the rest of the mud that held him. They fell together onto the damp grass, with Athos coughing and taking in deep breathes and retching as he cleared his mouth from the last bits of dirt.

'Thank…you….' He wheezed, meaning every word as Porthos and d'Artagnan joined them, their hands and faces caked in mud.

Aramis didn't know what to say- he was still taking everything in. 'Athos- how…why….'

'I don't know any more than you,' Athos groaned, leaning back and looking up at the stars. 'I just want to go home now.'

'But- but we need to get whoever-'

'Aramis, I went to get some wine and woke up in a coffin- I have no idea what happened in between.' He muttered, fear and a horrible sense of vulnerability now creeping into his veins.

'A coffin? Athos we need to-'

'What I need is a warm bath and some good wine.' Athos cut across him, not willing to let his fear win. 'We can deal with everything else in the morning.'

'Too right we will.' Porthos growled, before reaching a hand down and pulling Athos to his feet. Athos wobbled a little but held firm, before looking each man in the eyes. 'Thank you, all of you.' He muttered, shivering in the night air- it made him feel alive more than anything.

'Never thank us again.' D'artagnan replied with a small smile, before it dropped as worry speared his chest as he thought back to who he had seen earlier that night. 'You're sure you don't know what happened, or who put you there?'

'None whatsoever.' Athos replied, before turning away from the hole that was supposed to be his tomb. His memory was cloudy as a stormy evening, and all he could recollect was a woozy feeling and pain in his head. Nothing more, nothing less.

'Let's get you home.' Porthos muttered, but as they started walking slowly back up the path, Aramis caught his eye.

'Unless you'd rather stay somewhere else?' he whispered.

Athos was about to retort that of course he wasn't going to stay anywhere else- he was fine, and he was fine to stay at his rooms, no question about it….but a creeping fear was sliding in, unwelcome, uninvited, but definitely there. He didn't want to be alone, he realised.

'Perhaps for one night….'. he muttered, feeling a flush creep up his neck.

'Hey, its ok….' Aramis whispered so the other two wouldn't hear. 'Its perfectly understandable. You can stay with me for as long as you feel you want to.' He added, giving his best friend a small, comforting smile. Athos returned it weakly, the sick feeling returning- he swallowed it down with a growl.

He looked around at the other three, at the three men he'd die for, and who he was sure would do the same for him. He had no idea how they'd found him, but he was eternally grateful they had. They protected each other through thick and thin, through the good times and the bad, and for that he would always be thankful.

Their motto highlighted what Musketeers stood for, and now, of all times, it was especially true indeed. All for one, and one for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End.
> 
> Well, there we go- 26 one shots full of hurt/comfort. I hope you've enjoyed each and every one- I know I've enjoyed writing them!
> 
> Please review one last time, I would love to know what you thought of everything!
> 
> Of course, the chapters don't have to be over….if you have any prompts or ideas, just throw them my way and they'll be done!
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Until next time….

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, please comment!


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